


Triangulation

by TAFKAB



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pegging, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, Threesome - F/M/M, odd man out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 45,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/TAFKAB
Summary: Everybody thinks Spock has no emotions, but they couldn't be more wrong.  He has enough love in his heart for numerous partners, and at least three people are more dear to him than his own life. After Nyota decides to share Spock's affection instead of risking losing him in an attempt to keep him to herself, Doctor McCoy is astonished to receive an extremely unexpected invitation.  Can the three of them make a relationship work?  And what about poor Jim? I cannot stress strongly enough: if you aren't prepared to watch Nyota and Leonard struggle to learn to share, and make sacrifices to do so, and if you're going to go on anon and get bitchy about it, please don't read at all, or quit reading.  In other words, do us both a favor and instead of pissing in my cheerios, sod off and write your own story if you don't like mine. ABANDONED THANKS TO ALL THE COMPLAINING





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I admit to having seriously ambivalent feelings about Uhura being paired with Spock. This is an attempt to work them out so I can come to terms with the relationship instead of resenting it.
> 
> So here it is: the Spock/Uhura/McCoy story that literally nobody ever wanted.

Leonard McCoy bought himself a coffee-- none of that fancy additive bullshit for him. Just a large black coffee, straight up, strong enough to curl his hair. 

He took the steaming cup and retreated to his favorite hiding place, a little nook tucked in an oddly curved intersection of wall and building. There were lots of them on Yorktown thanks to the gyroscopic architecture; pathways always curved visibly under your very feet. The architects had thoughtfully placed benches in a number of the odd spots. Each morning McCoy made a particular one his own, tucked between a potted geranium and a cool wall where sunlight never intruded. 

From that spot, he couldn’t see the sky. He couldn’t see any building tops or sides protruding at wild, unnatural angles straight in front of his face. He could only see a little strip of grass and sidewalk and the skyscrapers around him; he could look out at the world and pretend it really was one.

The coffee kept him warm, and he cradled it lovingly between both hands. It was early spring by Yorktown reckoning, and the artificial seasons were at their most convincing during this time. The geranium seemed to agree, producing a profusion of crimson blossoms, its pungent scent a pleasant reminder of his grandmother’s old house in Georgia.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the steam, and might have sat there for some time, but the swish of fabric announced a visitor.

Opening his eyes, he found himself the subject of piercing scrutiny originating from Lieutenant Uhura. She was out of uniform, her hair loose, but the skirt was still very short and her legs were very much on display. McCoy carefully avoided looking at them. Spock would probably rip him limb from limb if he caught him eyeing up his girlfriend. 

“Lieutenant, what a pleasant surprise. Have a seat.” Chivalry demanded he make the offer, and he scooted closer to the wall to leave room for her, feeling a little uncomfortable. What could she possibly want? He rarely spoke with her if she didn’t have business in sickbay. He had a feeling she didn’t like him very much-- he had an even deeper feeling her reserve was because of his friendship with Spock. She didn’t approve. He could understand that. 

“Thanks, Leonard.” She didn’t move to sit, however, regarding him with one arm folded across her body. Her third finger worked at the cuticle of her thumbnail, a little nervous gesture that made him raise a brow. 

“What can I do for you?” He set the coffee on the bench carefully, and resisted the impulse to twist his pinky ring, something he usually only did in moments of extreme nervous tension.

OK, so he was nervous. Flop-sweat levels of nervous. Uhura had that effect on him, more so recently than before Altamid. He wouldn’t want her to think he was trying… anything. Anything whatsoever. Toward her or toward her b-- toward anybody else whatsoever. He started casting around for a good excuse to escape. 

Her head tilted, her tilted dark eyes studying him rather like he was a bug pinned on a board, or maybe like she could read his mind. 

“Spock and I have been talking.”

Leonard surged to his feet, his plans to find a gradual excuse for retreat shattering. “Yeah, uh. That’s good. I saw you’d patched things up. I hope my advice helped.” He started trying to edge his way around her. 

Uhura smiled, but with a little flash of impatience in her gaze. 

“Sit back down, Leonard.” She kept using his first name. He couldn’t recall ever inviting her to use it. Just because they were both wearing civvies, on temporary leave from active duty, wasn’t any good reason to let professionalism drop; she was up to something. 

“We’ve been talking about you,” she told him, her eyes steady in a way that made him shift, uncomfortable.

McCoy studied her again. Even though it was barely 0730, she looked like she was dressed up for clubbing. She wore high heeled sandals with a multitude of narrow straps wrapping her ankles and a dark brown silk dress, the material fluttering slightly in the breeze. She didn’t have on a bra, and the thin fabric clung, showing the concealed peaks of her small, round nipples. Her legs were visible most of the way to her chin and her cleavage halfway to her navel. Spock’s necklace sparkled on her dusky skin. Her arms were bare. Leonard swallowed. That didn’t look like the kind of dress you went out to commit murder in, but you never knew with women. 

What had he let slip? When? What had Spock read in his mind when they spent so much time in physical contact on Altamid? That had to be it. Or had he been hanging around the first officer too much lately? 

“We’d like you to join us for dinner tonight in our apartment.” This time Uhura came to sit by him; she laid a slim hand on his thigh. He stared down at it, blinking with astonishment. “And then you’ll be welcome to stay with us for the evening.” Her voice lowered, sensual, taking on a hint of smoke. “Bring an overnight bag and any items you’ll need.”

For once, Leonard McCoy was rendered absolutely speechless. He opened his mouth and closed it again, feeling like a fish. _I’m losing my mind,_ he thought wildly. She smiled a little, apparently amused by the panicked expression dawning on his face.

“You heard me correctly, Leonard. And you aren’t imagining things or misreading the offer.” Her hand lay warmly on his thigh, sliding upward and settling rather closer to his hip than his knee. God, she was even starting to sound like Spock. His brain was breaking in slow motion, with an internal sound something like a dropped whisky bottle, full and wet and messy. 

“I didn’t think Spock was the swinging type.” He made it sound lazy and unconcerned, trying to cover his consternation, but he could tell she wasn’t fooled. 

“Neither of us is.” There was the faintest hint of something brittle in her voice. “But we’ve discussed it at length, and we decided you’re an exception to the rule.”

She rose gracefully, handing him a slip of paper with an address on it-- written in Spock’s precise hand. “Dinner’s at six, Leonard. We’ll be cooking traditional southern food, to help you feel more at home.” She gave him a wink, then walked away-- and this time he let himself watch her go, mesmerized by the swish of her skirt and the sway of her hips above the slim, perfect columns of her thighs. 

_Holy hell._ He stared down at his coffee. It’d gone cold in its cup, half-drunk. 

“Maybe _I’m_ not the swinging type,” he muttered at the coffee. _What the fucking hell?!_

Lust churned with confusion and bafflement in his brain, and he couldn’t tell which was uppermost. He got up, tossing the wasted coffee into a recycling receptacle, and wandered out onto the promenade, letting passing traffic jostle him along with it as his brain reeled.

He swallowed thickly. He was already half-hard just thinking about it. Jesus Christ, Uhura was gorgeous. And….

 _Oh my God._ He swallowed thickly. _Spock._

He hadn’t even let himself consider his complicated feelings for Spock. It was impossible. He was taken. He was unattainable. He was a fucking Vulcan, for fucksake; he wouldn’t look at Leonard McCoy if McCoy were the only fuckable being within a light year. Hell, McCoy hadn’t even indulged himself in normal human co-worker sex fantasies about Spock; that shit just wasn’t safe around a touch telepath. The whole idea was a combination of cemetery and minefield in his brain, his stillborn emotions buried deep under a calm but faintly wistful, neatly maintained surface, cordoned off with razor wire and labeled “OFF LIMITS.” 

Now the landmines had all triggered at once, and it remained to be seen what kind of carnage remained. Little fragments of his frontal and parietal lobes were still sifting down out of the sky, and his temporal lobe and pituitary gland felt like they’d vaporized, never to be seen or heard from again. He was operating on primitive instinct, wandering at random, shell-shocked.

 _Spock._ The thought welled up out of the devastation of his own personal Pandora’s Box, a heart-cry, and McCoy had to steady himself against a wall until he could calm down. He wished for a breeze to cool his burning cheeks. 

Presumably Spock was okay with the invitation. He had to be, didn’t he? McCoy reached to finger the scrap of paper, looking at Spock’s handwriting. It served as confirmation; Spock was in this up to the tips of his green, pointy ears. McCoy stared at the neatly printed characters with disbelief. It was impossible any of this could be Spock’s idea… yet he couldn’t envision Uhura ever choosing this, choosing _him_ , on her own.

He thought of Spock’s face on Altamid: stubble scratching lightly at his fingertips, wide dark eyes blinking open to look up at him, beautifully sculpted lips parted as Spock gazed up, defenseless and unguarded for a span of a second, maybe two, before he pushed McCoy’s hands off his face, moving with more than necessary force. What had _really_ passed between them in that moment?

Madness. He’d cuss a while, but this was so crazy profanity just didn’t even begin to touch it.

McCoy stopped again at the edge of a reflecting pool, staring down at his own rippling face in the water. The distortion traveled in wavelets pushed by the breeze.

He couldn’t even call Jim and tell him what was up. He couldn’t call _anybody._ Hell, nobody’d ever believe him if he did.

God, if this was some kind of prank, some kind of an early surprise birthday party or something like that, Leonard was going to disembowel whoever was behind the joke and feed the bastard’s body to rabid targs while he kept the motherfucker’s head alive to watch. 

….There wasn’t much chance he’d decline the invitation, though. Not if it meant a chance to be with _Spock._ McCoy felt his face flame again at the very notion of it, and had to adjust himself, trying not to be obvious about it. God, his stupid brain was gonna kill him someday.

He swallowed hard and checked his chrono. Recovery from shock had eaten an hour and a half. _Shit._ He had to _move._


	2. Chapter 2

Nine hours later, McCoy was ready: freshly manicured, pedicured, shaved, showered, primped, hair trimmed, clothes laundered and pressed, prudently scoured clean both outside and in, thoroughly gussied and fussed, wearing a mild application of expensive, tasteful cologne. He had a small leather overnight case in his hand, masquerading as an old-fashioned medical kit; inside he’d stashed a sparing selection of clothing and personal care products, some more intimate than others. He’d also brought a bottle of the best peach brandy he could find on Yorktown; it ought to make a nice aperitif.

McCoy’s heart thundered in his chest as he transported into the nearest junction box, then got his bearings and headed for the address on the paper jammed in his pocket. Arriving, he reached to push the button to ring the bell, then hesitated, stepping back and straightening his leather jacket. He must’ve fretted over trying on and changing clothes more often today than his cousin Jenna had when she spent six weeks visiting every boutique in Atlanta while picking out a dress for her debutante ball. 

He glanced up at the number plate, making sure the address was correct. Then he used some breath spray and studied his face in the shiny aluminum of the door-frame, making sure his hair looked all right. The call button mocked him, daring him to push it. He tried to make himself press it, reaching out another two or three times, but he didn’t quite have the courage. Every time he started to reach, he pictured Spock opening the door and figured if that happened, he’d just keel over and hit his head and wind up in the hospital. 

“Leonard, there you are. Just on time!” Uhura breezed up, still tripping comfortably around in the neck-breaking heels, and palmed the door open. She carried a cloth bag with a bunch of collard greens sticking out of the end. “It took me a little longer than I expected to track down all the ingredients.” She smiled, pleasantly flustered. “Come on in.”

He had no choice but to follow her inside, nervously leaving his bag in the vestibule where it wouldn’t be obtrusive or maybe even noticeable in case this turned out to be a prank, or if they decided to back out, or if he’d hallucinated the invitation after all. 

“Spock, we’re here,” she called, and she took Leonard’s leather jacket, hanging it from a coat-rack in the hall.

“I am in the kitchen.” Measured and precise, Spock’s tones sounded exactly as they did on the bridge every day. McCoy tentatively decided that the squeezing sensation in his chest probably wasn’t a myocardial infarction. 

He hesitated in the living room, but it didn’t do any good. Spock came out to greet him. He looked comfortable amidst the tasteful collection of minimalist furnishings and scattered rugs, wearing a dark caftan and loose trousers over low boots. 

“Leonard. We are glad you chose to accept our invitation.” Spock laid a possessive hand on Uhura’s shoulder, and she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

McCoy nodded, swallowing hard; he hadn’t heard his first name this often in one day since he was in grade school. 

“I have to say it came as quite a surprise.” He glanced aside, feeling unimaginably awkward, and offered the peach brandy. “I brought a little something to go with dinner.”

“That was thoughtful of you.” Spock took the bottle and went to pour some into glasses-- three, though McCoy couldn’t remember him ever indulging in alcohol. He handed McCoy one and carried the other two into the kitchen for himself and Uhura.

“Wash those for me,” Uhura commanded Spock, probably meaning the greens. McCoy tagged along, feeling horribly out of place, sparing a glance at the framed artwork on the wall-- an IDIC in wrought metals. 

A glass pot of black-eyed peas boiled on the stove, and the fixings for cornbread sat on the counter at Spock’s elbow. He blinked, wondering how southern cooking _a la_ Spock would taste. It was bound to be interesting, if not precisely authentic. Uhura took the dripping-wet greens and started chopping, and McCoy peered into the upper oven, surprised to find a ham baking there. 

“You are late; the greens may not be done on time,” Spock commented mildly. 

“I’ll put them in the pressure cooker. I had a hard time finding any.” She scooped them into a pot.

“Can I help with anything?” McCoy felt uncomfortable with his presence between them. He stood out like a sore thumb, painfully awkward.

“You can mix up the bread, if you think you can handle that.” Uhura gave him a little smirk.

“Sure thing.” That he knew how to do, maybe better than they did. 

He explored in a cupboard or two until he found an iron skillet-- okay, so maybe he was judging them too fast; this was the best way to make cornbread, and the skillet was well-seasoned, not even a little rusty-- and put some butter in to melt, then sprinkled cornmeal mix to brown so it would help the bread come out easily. He mixed the cornmeal with milk and an egg, after discovering it was the kind you didn’t need to add soda to. As he put the bread in to bake, he wondered if this dinner was going to be entirely Spock-safe with all these animal products included.

Spock brushed past him, moving to the sink; McCoy shivered suddenly at the contact and went out to the living room to pour himself another shot of the peach brandy. God, he felt like he was fourteen again, terrified out of his mind, climbing up to Fred Wilson’s tree-house to play spin the damn bottle. 

At a loss, suddenly, for anything to do now that the meal was cooking, Spock and Uhura followed him. Spock took a moment to set his hands on Uhura’s waist and dropped a kiss onto her shoulder, just where it met her neck. She nuzzled into it, all but purring.

“Well, this all seems very cozy and normal,” Leonard said, conscious that he was being a little rude. “But I’ve gotta say you could’ve knocked me over with a feather this morning.” He sat down, gesturing with his glass. “I was half-expecting a surprise party with Jim popping out from behind the sofa or something, ready to laugh at me for taking your offer seriously.”

The two of them exchanged a look, and Leonard could almost hear Spock’s “I told you so.” He sipped at his brandy. 

“Before I agree to stay over, I’d like to hear some more about what you’re both thinking.” He crossed one ankle over his knee, trying to seem at ease. “Given how we’ll be expected to work together again in a couple of months, you’re gonna need to sell me on this.”

Uhura blinked at him for a moment, seeming startled; by contrast, Spock regarded him without apparent surprise. 

“I mean, you both seem kind of like the monogamous type. The jealous type, even.” His fingers didn’t shake as he set down his glass and laced them over his knee, and he was proud of that, but he was a surgeon, after all. 

Spock’s eyes flickered to Uhura at that, and she sighed. “You’re right, of course.” She sipped the brandy, studying the liquor as she swirled it in her glass. “This isn’t a decision we arrived at easily after Spock suggested we consider it. But it’s a mutual one.” 

Spock made an abortive gesture toward her, but remained silent. 

McCoy raised a brow. “That’s nice. I’m flattered, believe me.” His heart was fluttering like a captive bird. Spock wanted him…? Incredible. “But it’s not enough to convince me to stay.” 

“Spock, can you give us a minute alone?” It sounded more like an order than a request. Spock made himself scarce without a fuss, and she faced McCoy firmly, getting right down to brass tacks. 

“He loves you. And Jim, he loves him, too. But I have to draw the line somewhere, and he’s not bringing Jim Kirk into my bed.” She stared at him levelly, slicing the air with her hand, decisive. “I made it a life goal to keep that man out of my panties before he ever joined Starfleet, and I’m not about to change my mind now. But Spock needs more than I can give, and you… well.” She lifted her chin and stepped over to McCoy, standing before him with her legs slightly apart, well inside his personal bubble. “You’re not too hard on the eyes, doctor, even if you are a difficult man. I think you’re a good one, behind the bluster. You saved Spock’s life on Altamid.” 

“Jim’s a good man.” He knocked back the last of his brandy, resisting the temptation to touch her. “He’s saved all our lives a dozen times over.”

“Jim doesn’t know how to do committed relationships.” She reached to straighten his collar, her fingertips tickling briefly against his neck. “I’m gambling you’ll do better.”

“My ex-wife would have some choice words to say about that.” But it hadn’t been him who cheated; it’d been Jocelyn all along. 

“I’m not willing to lose Spock.” Uhura faced him dead on, fire in her eyes. “And if sharing him is what I have to do to keep him, then I’ll do it.” 

Now they were getting closer to the truth. “He wouldn’t leave you.”

She raised a brow, mocking him. “He won’t,” she agreed. “Not if I give him what he needs.” She leaned in, intent. “Spock’s not cut out to love just one person. Maybe he doesn’t fall often, but he falls hard.”

McCoy blinked at that, shaking his head a little, wishing for another glass of brandy. Better not to have one, not so soon after the first two. “If you say so,” he said, dry. “But as a Vulcan, he _doesn’t_ feel anyth--”

“You don’t believe that,” she snapped. “So stop trying to make me think you do.”

Fair enough. “Okay. So he lov--” he couldn’t say it. “He has feelings for more than one person. Maybe even for me.” He shook his head, still unable to conceive of it. “That doesn’t make this a good idea.”

“And all your stalling doesn’t mean you’re ready to walk out,” she snapped. “You wouldn’t be here at all if you didn’t want to be with him.”

Bluff called. McCoy winced.

“You love him.” Her voice fell very low, and Leonard wondered if Spock was listening. Probably so, off somewhere in the next room with his ear pushed up against the door. “It’s not hard to see, doctor; half the crew’s known it for more than a year. But if I’m wrong about that, you know where to find the door. It’s up to you.”

“I haven’t had enough brandy for this,” Leonard grumbled. “What the hell does he have to say about it? Why can’t he speak for himself?”

“He finds it difficult to articulate his feelings to you.” She set her jaw. “He says that whenever he tries, you deflect, redirect, deny, change the subject. That’s why I’m the one who came to find you this morning; that’s why I’m in here discussing this with you now.”

McCoy thought back to Altamid, to Spock’s halting half-confession, which he’d interrupted with all possible haste. ‘You don’t have to say it,’ he’d told Spock before he could finish. What would Spock have said if he hadn’t stopped him? He hadn’t been able to believe it would be what he needed, and he’d known he couldn’t handle something less. “Dammit,” he said softly. “I’m a fucking coward.

“But you’re right about one thing.” He looked up into Uhura’s face, then rose, standing very close to her. “I want him.” _Love him,_ his mind whispered as he watched her eyes narrow at his turn of phrase. But he couldn’t say it, not yet. “And I’m not here to walk out on him, no.” His heart pounded, blood rushing in his ears as adrenaline surged in the wake of his confession. God, he had to be out of his fucking mind. 

McCoy reached deliberately and caught her shoulders between his palms; she was trembling very slightly, and he hoped he wasn’t committing them all to the biggest disaster since the Narada took out Vulcan. He dared to lean in and kiss her forehead anyway. “Sharing him’d be a lot more than I ever dared to hope for.” He breathed the words against her skin, letting his hands slide down to cradle her elbows. “And maybe a lot more’n I deserve.” 

She looked up, resolute; he could see both her fragility and her strength-- and her burning determination. God, she was just as bad as Spock. They all were, really, in their own way. Himself included. They wouldn’t be crazy enough to be here if they weren’t. 

“Dinner is ready.” Spock appeared in the doorway, his tread noiseless. He hadn’t even been behind a door. He’d heard every word; McCoy knew it. He couldn’t make himself meet Spock’s quiet gaze.

He flushed, but followed them into the kitchen and helped serve the meal.


	3. Chapter 3

The meal tasted surprisingly good, though the greens would’ve been better with a bit of pork fat for seasoning. Spock wouldn’t have liked it, though, and the ham made up for the omission. Spock avoided that course politely. He also left the cornbread for McCoy and Uhura; he ate some kind of pita-style bread of his own with the peas and onions and greens. 

They mostly stayed quiet as they ate, managing only a little desultory conversation about construction on the new Enterprise and encounters with a few other crewmen who’d settled nearby. McCoy enjoyed his sweet tea and let the peach brandy fumes evaporate off his brain as he ate, deliberately slowing down to savor every bite, aware that he was stalling again.

Fuck, but this was awkward, and hard as hell to handle. 

When dinner was finished, Uhura brought out the final course in triumph: peach cobbler. McCoy laughed and took a small serving; it was good even without milk or eggs in the biscuit crust.

“You guys set a nice table,” he confessed when he’d had enough, leaning back in his chair and surveying the ruins. 

“Thank you, doctor.” Uhura gave him what looked like a genuine smile; the food had mellowed her.

“Let’s clean the kitchen, Spock,” McCoy suggested. “She hiked all over Yorktown in those sandals looking for greens. Least we can do.”

They cleared the food away together, Spock finding storage dishes and putting leftovers away in the cooler while McCoy washed and dried the plates and pots and pans, scoffing at the offer of the dishwasher. “Wasteful things. They never get the dishes good and clean. A little elbow grease works better.”

Spock made a noncommittal noise and waited until Leonard had both hands buried in dishwater up to his elbows before stepping over to the sink and setting tentative hands on his waist.

McCoy nearly flinched, and settled for freezing in place. His heart thundered in his chest, frantic.

“Will you stay?” Spock’s voice was very quiet.

McCoy closed his eyes, feeling Spock’s warm breath on his throat. “You really want me to?” 

“Yes.”

“She’s not gonna change her mind and go crazy with jealousy later?”

“Nyota and I have agreed on this course of action. I do not believe so.”

“She’s _gonna_ change her mind and go crazy with jealousy later,” Leonard warned him. “Just so you’re prepared.” His head spun dizzily with anticipation. Spock’s hands stole his ability to think, hot and strong on him.

“We will find a way to appease her,” Spock said, perfectly assured. McCoy shivered as the hands at his waist slid around to his belly and Spock pressed closer. Want shuddered through him on tongues of pure flame. 

“Spock, I’m up to my ass in dirty dishwater here,” he complained softly. Spock nuzzled at his ear, and fireworks went off throughout McCoy’s nervous system; he thought his knees would give way. Spock’s body was a glow of tantalizing heat against his, molding against his back, his ass, his thighs. 

“My strategy precisely, doctor, intended to prevent your escape.” Spock’s lips opened against McCoy’s throat.

Leonard let go the pan he’d been soaping and stood trembling in Spock’s arms, his head tipping back and to the side, his breath rasping in his chest as he struggled to breathe. He wanted to keen and whimper; he wanted to turn and shove Spock against the wall, drag his clothes off him, feel his skin all over.

“Spock.” Nyota scolded. McCoy’s eyes flew open guiltily; she stood in the doorway, leaning against one side, her arms folded. “Let him wash himself off first.” She came and took the last couple of pots he’d rinsed, drying them and hanging them from their hooks. 

Spock went to Uhura while McCoy finished the last pot and dried it, washing his arms and hands carefully before turning around, his heart thundering with a giddy mix of fear and anticipation.

Spock stood in the doorway with Uhura, holding her in one arm and kissing her; she stood with her head tipped up to meet him, and as McCoy watched he brought his other hand up between her thighs and began fingering her beneath her dress, completely without hesitation.

McCoy froze, his eyes nearly ready to fall out of his head. 

“Well, you two don’t waste any time,” he mumbled, embarrassed. His cock surged in his jeans, trapped painfully within the tight fabric. He stepped forward tentatively, cautious-- if this was going to work, Uhura was the center who’d have to hold. He knew it by instinct; he was going to have to make her happy. They both were. 

He couldn’t just go from zero to warp, though; he was a stranger, the odd man out. He couldn’t start out by touching her as intimately as Spock was, or he’d probably get his throat ripped out. In stereo.

“You’re gonna have to share her just like she’s gotta share you,” he advised Spock, and when he drew back, leaving room, McCoy cautiously cut in.

She looked up at him, her eyes unreadable, her lips wet and soft, slightly swollen from Spock’s kiss. Spock had not relinquished his hold, merely moving to the side. Spock watched Leonard silently as he hesitated, then reached to cup her face in his hands and lift it, slowly drifting in, giving her time to back out if she wanted.

She didn’t. Her mouth welcomed him and met his careful exploration with sweetness. He deepened things slowly, becoming aware that her breath was hitching-- Spock still had his fingers at work on her, the sly dog. She was trembling with the effort of staying still under the onslaught, but McCoy could feel pent-up whimpers forming low in her throat.

He laid his hand on her waist. The silk was warm from the heat of her body, and she was quivering. Spock knew just how to get her going, it seemed. His other hand found her shoulder and stayed there even though it wanted Spock instead-- he made himself behave; there was plenty of time. He stroked Uhura’s side slowly through the cloth with his thumb, finding a floating rib, deceptively delicate. 

The first whimper escaped her, shuddering through her body; he wondered exactly what Spock had done to coax it forth, but didn’t have time to investigate. Instead he took advantage of the opportunity to sink the kiss deeper. She opened up for him like a flower, honey-sweet, her hands coming up languidly to shape his back. He felt her nails dig in through his shirt as Spock did whatever it was again, and she gasped into his mouth. 

He drew back; her eyes were dilated, glazed. Spock had both hands under her dress now; it had risen on one side to expose the length of one flank, and one palm covered her breast beneath the bunched hem. She had nothing at all on underneath the silk, and Leonard groaned suddenly, thinking of her coming to him dressed this way. He wondered if she’d been aroused, thinking of him as a new lover. 

“Dammit, Spock, leave some for me,” he muttered, suddenly kindling for her. She was sleek perfection, lean and graceful as a deer, and the glimpse of the dark, tight curls between her thighs sent another surge of blood to his cock, making him ache.

“If you don’t like what I’m doing, let me know,” he warned her, and she jerked her head yes, a single nod, impatient. He leaned in and mouthed at her collarbone, savoring the salt of her skin. He put his hand on her thigh and began to bring it upward, the dress coming with it. Spock made a soft hum-- approval? Well thank God for that-- and Leonard kissed her again, more confidently this time, tipping her head back. 

She was whimpering steadily now, rocking on Spock’s fingers, and Leonard brought his hand slowly up until he reached her breast, thumbing at her nipple in time with the cries provoked by Spock’s touch. She shuddered, arms rising to loop behind Leonard’s neck, and together he and Spock worked the dress off her, one hand each, and let it fall to the floor.

“You’re beautiful,” McCoy told her, earnest, and she leaned in to bite his lip, but when she drew back, she was smiling. 

“See? There’s a man who knows how to sweet-talk a lady,” she complained mildly to Spock. 

He countered by sinking fingers inside her body, and she gasped, clinging to Leonard suddenly. He kissed her, swallowing her cries; Spock knew just what he was doing and soon she writhed between them, desperate moans crushed against Leonard’s lips. He squeezed her nipple lightly between his fingertips, again trying to time it with Spock’s caress.

She shivered, breaking away from his mouth to cry out; her head fell back against Spock’s shoulder and she writhed against him as orgasm took her, a faint mist of perspiration dewing her skin. Spock supported her, looking down at her writhing body with a level of calm McCoy found absolutely inappropriate. 

Spock nursed her through aftershocks, bringing her to two smaller climaxes before he stopped; McCoy indulged himself by watching, stroking his hands over her smooth skin, enjoying the sight of her, feeling her fingers digging into his biceps. Her legs obviously didn’t want to hold her upright anymore.

“Let’s take her to bed, Spock,” Leonard said, then blushed a little at his own audacity, but Spock nodded and hoisted her into his arms; he led the way into the back of the house and McCoy pulled the covers back to let Spock put her down. She lay there, arching, lifting her hair from behind her shoulders with a slow yawn. McCoy glimpsed the slick wet folds between her thighs and swallowed hard. He wanted her, without question-- but the sight of Spock’s shoulders flexing inside his flowing robe was equally maddening, and he hung fire, torn, aching to go to Spock, far too shy to take the first step. 

Spock seemed to sense his dilemma, and his dark eyes caught Leonard’s; their gazes clung for a long moment, and Leonard felt his belly flip-flop wildly. He saw something banked in that dark gaze that he’d never sensed in Spock before, something fathomless and ungovernable. He was suddenly terrified that the instant he let himself kiss Spock, they’d both forget Uhura and just fucking devour each other. A curl of dark flame rose up in his own belly, and he didn’t flinch from what he saw, answering it without words, but with the steadiness of his gaze and the thick ridge of his cock inside his jeans. 

“Boys,” she called, and they turned to her as one, the gathering spell broken. She shook her head with a little crooked smile. “The two of you losing it this early isn’t on the menu.”

Leonard rolled his eyes to heaven, and she laughed. 

Spock peeled out of the long robe then, leaving just a light, open tunic and trousers, and kicked off his boots. Leonard’s breath stopped in his chest. He’d seen Spock’s chest before, of course-- he’d seen everybody aboard the Enterprise in every possible degree of undress; he was their doctor. But he’d never seen Spock anything like this, trousers low on his narrow hips, cock pushing at the fabric, a long stripe of torso visible behind the fluttering wings of cloth, the skin of his belly and chest flushed with an infusion of dark blood, turning him a mouth-watering shade of golden-olive. 

“You too,” Uhura had to prompt him, nudging his thigh with her toe, and Leonard flushed, tugging his shirt out of his jeans and elbowing awkwardly out of it. He hadn’t been working out enough lately, and he had a slight, soft pad of extra flesh at the base of his belly, marring the line of his abs, and maybe his pecs could use a little work, too. It wasn’t too bad though, and Uhura smiled at the sight of him, making a little purr of pleasure.

He didn’t dare look up to check out Spock’s reaction; his cheeks were already flushing dark crimson as he sensed the weight of Spock’s eyes resting on him. McCoy wasn’t like Jim, coming back from an away mission every day or two with his shirt in shreds. Leonard rarely undressed in public; the shirt didn’t come off for just anybody. 

Spock moved, and Leonard stood his ground with an effort, trying not to tremble as the half-Vulcan stepped up behind him. He drew a deep breath, trying to remain calm, glancing back over his shoulder despite himself.

“Nyota would like to see more, doctor. As would I.”

“Dammit, Spock, I’m not your doctor in bed.” He managed to sound something like himself, spurred by irritation.

“You are not yet in bed, doctor.” Inevitable calm.

He was rolling his eyes with exasperation when Spock’s arms slid around his waist and his deft fingers popped the button over the fly of Leonard’s jeans. McCoy gasped, sucking in air that suddenly didn’t seem to work right. The zip followed, and Spock’s hand slid inside, closing around him through his undershorts. He couldn’t breathe, wildfire desire and panic swirling wildly in his head. 

“Spock,” Uhura reached and stopped him. “Not so fast. You’ll scare him to death.” 

“Not afraid,” McCoy blustered unconvincingly. “More like processor lag.” He took another deep breath, then reached to take care of himself. Dislodging Spock’s hands, he bent to pry off his boots. Spock steadied him, one sure hand on his waist, burning sensual heat through his shirt. 

Uhura-- he’d just go ahead and call her Nyota, Leonard decided on the spur of the moment; she sure wasn’t shy about using his first name-- reached to help tug his jeans down as he straightened. He let her, not half as nervous about her hands as Spock’s. He liked the sight of her long, dark hair flowing down as she bent over him, her breath warm on his erection. 

Then Spock nestled up behind him and he was gone again, gasping with shock at the feel of Spock’s heat behind him and the hard shaft pressing against his ass, only a thin layer of cloth between them. He let his head tip back, resting against Spock’s shoulder as Nyota took him in hand and stroked. Staring up at the tasteful recessed lighting, he could just make out the elegant curve and pointed tip of Spock’s ear blurred in his peripheral vision, and the shine of the light on his ebony-dark hair. 

“I died,” he muttered softly to himself, stunned with wonder when Spock’s mouth touched his throat again, hot and soft. “I died back when Krall took the Enterprise. If this is my eternal reward, I must’ve been a good boy.” 

Nyota licked a hot stripe along his cock and Spock ghosted a hand over his nipple; McCoy groaned. “A damn good boy,” he amended, while he could still talk. 

“He talks too much,” Nyota pulled off and sat up, giving him a stern look. 

“You should have let me proceed as I intended earlier.” The warm rumble against McCoy’s back made him shiver, his eyes closing. 

“No way. We’re going by the plan. You know what’ll happen if we don‘t.”

“Plan? What plan?” McCoy abruptly started to worry-- too late. 

They pulled away in tandem. Nyota reached for McCoy, dragging him onto the bed and laying him out like a banquet, then mounting him swiftly, bareback. He groaned as he slid deep, reaching to clasp her hips and gaze up along her slim, bare body. Spock nestled in behind her, kneeling over McCoy’s thighs and taking her small breasts in his hands as she began to sway, clenching her body around McCoy in slow, luxuriant pulses.

Apparently it was a plan to drive him absolutely out of his mind by not letting him get his claws on Spock any damn time soon. 

He was almost disappointed-- as disappointed as any man could make himself feel when he was buried to the root in sweet slick heat-- until he saw Spock’s hand creep along her throat and settle on her face, his rapt expression slowly mirroring hers, his eyes closing.

“Two against one’s not fair,” he groaned, lifting his hips with enough force to make her gasp; Spock’s lashes fluttered in silent echo. 

Of course. He could feel McCoy taking her through the meld-- as if it were happening to him. Now this was the kind of challenge McCoy was prepared to accept. 

McCoy reached for her waist, shifting her so he could aim for the G-spot, and gave her a firm thrust.

Her eyes flew open as she gasped with surprise; Spock groaned aloud.

_Hell to the yes._ McCoy did it again, and again, and soon she was riding hard, sweat gleaming on her skin. Spock plastered himself wholly against her back, helping her move, his hands and body pressed against her so tenderly McCoy felt embarrassed to look at them. It seemed much more intimate than having his cock inside her, to see Spock so deeply abandoned to experiencing Nyota’s pleasure-- pleasure Leonard was ultimately causing.

He slipped his fingertips between his body and hers, brushing them up into her slick folds, and she yelped, wriggling against his touch aggressively. Spock’s hands stirred, moving to her nipples, and he began to torment them gently, pinching and twisting. His teeth sank at her throat as McCoy watched. 

McCoy’s breath hissed in his throat as she tightened on him like a vise, her body escaping control as she started to crest, wild cries throttled in her throat. She hovered, impossibly, at the crest for at least a minute before the shriek finally escaped her and she exploded into a writhing frenzy, the spasms of her body dragging orgasm from Leonard against his will. 

“Nyota,” Spock murmured very softly, supporting her, stroking her cheek. Leonard flushed, feeling like a voyeur. He looked away, trying to catch his breath. Spock didn’t seem jealous, and that was a relief, all things considered, because McCoy was still buried inside her. 

Spock withdrew, helping her off McCoy and settling her between them. McCoy carefully tried to aid in soothing and caring for her as she came down off her endorphin high.

Spock had been painfully careful not to touch him more than he could help, so McCoy felt too constrained to let his skin brush Spock’s at all. But he could caress Nyota in Spock’s stead, nuzzling at her ear and gauging the tempo of her rapid breathing and pounding heart by force of habit as they began to subside toward equilibrium. 

He considered what he might say-- an expression of gratitude? An apology? Would they want him to leave now that she’d climaxed twice? Had Spock climaxed at all? Why wouldn’t he touch Leonard any more, if he didn’t mind having him here in their bed? He tried to ignore the spinning panic accelerating in his mind, lying where he was and stroking Nyota’s forearm with one palm. 

“That was fantastic,” she purred, turning to him and lifting her chin for a kiss. He gave it readily. “I should’ve known you’d be good with your hands.” She lifted her hand and brushed a wisp of hair off his forehead. 

“As I endeavored to convince you he would be.” Spock, too, caressed her, his hands bolder, traveling over her breast and belly. 

_How would you know?_ Leonard raised a brow, trying to catch Spock’s eye, but when he failed, he let the words die unspoken. Well, he’d know now, maybe, from the meld with Uhura. 

Her hand moved, curling around his as if she’d sensed his disquiet. “Patience,” she said softly, breathing the word against his ear and following it with a soft, wet brush of her tongue. 

“Spock,” she said louder, drawing back. 

“Yes, Nyota.” He seemed as calm as an unruffled lake. 

“You didn’t come.” Her voice teased, light and gentle.

“I did not.” Pure serenity, with a hint of anticipation.

“You know that’s not acceptable outcome.” She purred the words, rolling over to torment one of his nipples with her fingernail. 

“Indeed.” 

McCoy could have groaned at the formal dialog, but he sensed the playfulness beneath it, and the fire in her tone interested him. He’d meant to try to hold off, hoping for a shot at Spock himself, but now he was as limp as overcooked pasta. Still, the night was young, and it didn’t look like things were over yet.

Uhura squirmed right over Spock to escape the bed; Spock rolled over to watch her, still wearing most of his clothing. His tunic was open, but his breeches and socks were still on. 

“Bashful much, Spock?” The words sounded a little too loud, and Spock’s name tasted strange in his mouth, given the circumstances. As Spock rolled back to face him once more, McCoy was keenly conscious of his own nudity; he didn’t even have a sheet pulled over his groin. 

“Unlike Nyota, I prefer to move slowly. Experiences that cannot be repeated are best savored in small, measurable increments.”

That was definitely a predatory look in Spock’s eye; Leonard swallowed hard, trying to decide how he felt about being savored in small, measurable increments. But what really bugged him was “cannot be repeated.” A one night thing, then? Damn. But he couldn’t have expected it to be any different. 

“Spock, there’s such a thing as waiting till you lose your chance. Wouldn’t want you to do that.” He realized his throat was dry; the weight of Spock’s calm, dark gaze ruined his composure. He crossed his arms behind his head, stretching with luxuriant ease, trying to tempt Spock forward. 

“That eventuality seems unlikely, doctor.” Spock’s eyes ranged over him, intensely focused.

“What’d I say about calling me doctor in bed?”

“Stop arguing!” Nyota scolded them both, emerging from the closet. McCoy’s eyes popped, coming close to falling out of his head. 

She’d stepped into a brief leather harness, pulling it up and cinching it around her slender body. It held a cradle at groin level, and in the cradle bobbed a heavy, clear glass toy with a wide base, not too thick but ribbed in undulating waves. She supported it in one graceful palm. 

“Holy shit,” McCoy breathed, then blushed at himself. 

Nyota laughed softly, her eyes gleaming. “It’s his favorite.”


	4. Chapter 4

McCoy watched a green flush rise to suffuse all of Spock’s exposed skin. 

“Clothes off. All of them. Now,” Nyota took on a tone of command, stepping forward, and Spock rose in a fluid motion to obey. “He gets chilled easily without them on,” she explained to McCoy, moving to tweak up the thermostat as Spock folded his tunic and laid it aside. Warm air began to blow in aggressively.

McCoy nodded absently, only half-hearing, not caring about the heat. His eyes were riveted on Spock. The flush went all the way down beneath his waistband, and Leonard wanted to touch it, to feel if the skin was tangibly hotter where it was darkest. 

Then Spock slid his trousers down, revealing his arousal, and McCoy gulped, the longing to touch tingling in his fingertips, a thwarted ache. 

Spock folded his trousers and set them aside, then stood still and passive, gazing at the floor, adopting a posture of parade rest, hands folded behind his back. 

“Here,” Uhura said softly, stepping up to Spock and standing on tiptoe. He bent to let her tie a black velvet sash around his eyes, covering them. “He’s a little embarrassed right now,” she explained softly to McCoy. “Not seeing you watching will help him focus.”

McCoy cleared his throat, gazing at her with growing anxiety. “Should I, uh. Make myself scarce?”

“No,” Spock answered on his own, very formal. “Please remain.” The green flush deepened and his cock bobbed as it reached full tumescence, beginning to jut out from his body.

“He’s not able to touch you right now because he has a problem sometimes with intensity,” Nyota guided Spock gently, steering him to kneel on the bed with his knees apart, presented for her. “He isn’t used to processing strong emotions from multiple sources; right now you and I are both under stress, and so is he. He’s already under enough stress from handling the combination of his own feelings and mine. We decided he’ll need to acclimate to your presence individually.”

“Makes sense.” McCoy found himself talking softly, hoping that would help them all relax. “I don’t bite though.” He tried to joke. “Not unless I’m asked.”

“He’ll like it if you do.” She mounted a little step by the bed, apparently placed there for just this purpose, and smiled down at Spock, stroking his back. “Vulcans have an instinct to mark their mates.”

Heat flushed through McCoy, burning in his face and throat, and he cleared his throat, self-conscious. “Do they.” His voice was husky, his eyes caught by the gleam of the glass shaft. 

She spread a handful of something slick onto it. “Are you ready, Spock?”

“Preparation for this act was foremost among my afternoon activities.” Spock’s voice had grown breathless, a little strained-- eager. 

McCoy covered his mouth with his hand, struggling not to laugh at Spock’s inevitable formality; however, the urge faded entirely when Nyota reached to investigate and withdrew an anal toy from Spock’s body, setting it aside. A pang of lust stirred McCoy’s cock. _He’s been wearing that thing the whole damned time?!_ The thought of Spock, sitting at dinner, ready to be taken--

McCoy could hardly swallow around the thickness of desire in his throat. He stared, breathless and tingling, at Nyota as she steadied the shaft, positioning herself -- then began to push.

Spock’s mouth fell open, his features softening; he exhaled a low, moaning breath as she thrust inside with a slow, careful shift of her hips. 

McCoy echoed the moan, transfixed by the sight. He swallowed hard, biting his lip, and tried not to make any more noise. He couldn’t bear to interrupt something so fucking gorgeous.

Spock knelt on trembling arms and legs, taking it, his fists knotted in the bedsheets. He uttered a low, urgent sound, keening. 

McCoy wiped his sweaty face with a trembling hand, so aroused he _hurt_ even though he couldn't get hard yet. God, what he wouldn’t give to be buried in Spock-- to feel him hot and tight, constricting, his body shuddering in little spasms as he struggled to adapt to the intrusion. He swallowed hard, trying to force himself to think. This was symbolic as hell; Uhura was laying claim, telling him she was dominant over Spock. Hell, dominant over them both. 

He thought of kneeling where Spock was now, opening himself up and taking it while Spock watched, and the rapid thud of lust through all his nerves made him sway, dizzy.

Nyota set a steady pace, hands resting on Spock’s waist, holding him steady to meet her thrusts. Spock gave a little breathy gasp every time she stroked across his prostate, and those electric little sounds made McCoy take himself in hand, squeezing to greet each new one. But it wasn’t enough; he felt left out, awkward, alone.

He slipped behind Nyota, moving up close to her, arranging himself between her knees and taking care not to touch Spock’s legs. When he was satisfied, he slid his hands up her smooth flanks, cupping both her breasts, and settled his cock against the cleft of her ass, matching her motions.

Leaning over her shoulder, he could appreciate the tantalizing prospect of Spock on his knees, almost as if he were the one doing the fucking. He slid both hands over her breasts, pinching lightly at her nipples, and she thrust a little harder, the sharp motions prompting Spock to collapse to his elbows, offering himself up without shame. 

Leonard wished he were able to fuck her again already; he’d love plowing her right into Spock, making them both gasp and moan. She was being too gentle; he could sense it in the quivering of Spock’s thighs, the way he spread himself wide open as if pleading for it.

“He needs more,” McCoy breathed in her ear, feeling her spark with tension, a little flicker of resentment. “You won’t hurt him.” He pressed his body in behind hers, waiting. When she’d withdrawn, he nudged her forward again with a firm thrust of his own. 

Spock groaned, collapsing to bury his face in the pillow; a hitching shudder went through him. 

In for a penny… McCoy reached and guided her hand on the shaft, angling it down just a little, and helped her push again, showing her how to snap her hips exactly so.

Spock’s muffled cry turned hoarse, wild. McCoy heard cloth rip, but he didn’t give a damn about the sheets; he just helped Nyota push forward again, giving it to Spock just like he needed it. 

When she had the angle, he pulled back to let her take over, stroking himself lightly and watching Spock shiver himself to pieces around the glass cock, his strong fingers tearing long rents in the sheets as he gasped and groaned and pushed back into the fucking, wanting it harder still. 

Wanting a man’s ruthless strength. Nyota was too gentle. 

McCoy’s mouth tasted dry with want, and his whole body tingled at the thought of what that meant for him; he was hardly prepared when Spock lifted his head and gave a sudden soft gasp, impossibly unguarded, completely vulnerable-- and came all over Nyota’s hand when she reached around to capture him.

Spock collapsed into the ruined bedding, his lungs dragging in air in great, sobbing gasps. He seemed strangely human in that moment, and McCoy savaged the inside of his cheek, trying to force himself not to reach out.

“Now it’s your turn,” Nyota murmured softly to him, her gaze stormy, but resolved. Withdrawing herself entirely from Spock, she reached for Leonard’s hand and tugged him forward, preparing to set it on Spock’s back.

“You sure?” McCoy hesitated, looking down at the smooth expanse of flesh in front of him. 

Spock made a low rumbling murmur and stretched, laying himself out like a banquet. 

She nodded, biting her lip; for an instant he saw something terribly sad in her eyes. She withdrew slowly, settling herself in an armchair by the bed, drawing up one knee and resting her chin on it.

Before she could change her mind, before he could get any more anxious than he already was, he extended his hand and let his fingertips stroke against Spock’s bare shoulder.

Spock stilled, his breath halting in his lungs as he recognized McCoy’s touch. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched Spock before. He had, when he’d been forced to do so in the course of his duty-- and a few times by accident, and a few times when it was just the natural thing to do-- a lot fewer of those than the first. But he hadn’t ever touched Spock like _this_. Not with the intent to caress.

McCoy focused on keeping himself calm, his breaths smooth and regular. He stroked in time with them: fingertips down along Spock’s spine almost to his ass, then back up to the nape of his neck. He ventured to touch the damp fringe of Spock’s hair, figuring that was all right for neutral ground. The ears…. He swallowed with longing, but kept his fingers away from their enticing curve, for the moment. He settled his palm onto Spock’s back instead, moving it in a slow sweep that settled on the curve of Spock’s bottom: a real caress, sensual and appreciative, making his fingers tingle. 

Spock’s head tilted, and his long-held breath escaped him quietly with a sound that was almost a moan. 

He turned over.

McCoy drew a slow breath, his heart twisting with sweetness and guilt no matter what he tried to do to suppress the feelings. There was the slow-fading remnant of the Altamid scar, still receiving periodic cosmetic treatment. Spock had been pierced through the side as a result of McCoy's own clumsiness in landing the bee ship; he'd nearly died before they reached the Franklin. McCoy touched the mark very lightly; it looked worse than it ought to because he’d had to use cautery. He wouldn’t rest till it was nothing but a bad memory.

Spock lay still, quiescent, so McCoy hesitantly sat at his side, then let his hand wander over Spock's muscle-padded ribs, his lean taut stomach, his elegantly curved collarbone. Spock lay still, lips parted, and left McCoy to guess at whether he was enjoying it-- but it seemed likely he was; his heart-rate was still a little elevated, but his skin remained warm and comfortably flushed with heat, and his expression seemed relaxed and gentle under the blindfold. 

Telepathy locus points, right. Shy, McCoy stopped himself from reaching for Spock’s hand and redirected his exploration toward more physical forms of intimacy. He brushed his thumb over one taut olive-green nipple, provoking a soft inhalation. _Jesus Christ._ He was finally growing hard again, slow-building need driving his hands.

“Spock,” he murmured, feeling a little foolish at the reverence in his tone. 

Spock reached and slid the blindfold off his head, letting it drop. His eyes regarded McCoy with warmth, speaking volumes, though the rest of his face did not. 

“Too much?” McCoy asked softly.

“Not enough.” Spock reached for him, two fingers extended. 

Hesitant, McCoy met them with his own. Spock’s lashes fluttered and his chest expanded as he inhaled a slow, shuddering breath. Uhura’s stare bored holes through them both, and McCoy felt horribly self-conscious. He glanced toward her, apologetic.

“Leonard.” The smooth, calm voice compelled his attention, Spock’s heartbeat echoing oddly in his ears. He realized he was feeling it, not hearing it; Spock’s presence drew his head back around as though he were attached to a string. _A meld._ Or the beginnings of one; Spock’s fingers caressed his, and electricity crackled between them, exquisite awareness and arousal seeking ground.

Spock rose and pressed him down into the tumbled bedding, then gracefully moved to cover him, taking his mouth with deliberate assurance. 

Hot skin brushed his and Spock's heavy warm body settled over him, pressing his thighs apart. Spock’s crisp, wiry body hair tickled his chest and the insides of his thighs; McCoy gasped as Spock’s hot tongue parted his lips. 

He kissed back hard, looping his arms around Spock’s neck and dragging him close, aggressive in surrender. _Yes and yes and yes._ Every heartbeat, every sweep of Spock’s hands over his body pulsated sensation and need directly into McCoy’s brain; he groaned into the kiss, lost, unable to care about anything else.

Spock devoured him like a starving man, reserve burning away like mist under strong sun. McCoy floated on the torrent of sensation, clinging to him urgently, thrusting up and rolling them, gazing down at Spock for a long, glorious moment, smiling at his flushed face and mussed hair before Spock easily lifted his hips and rolled them once more, covering him again. 

Every brush of lip and finger blazed in his brain, from the slow transit of Spock’s thumb over the pulse in his wrist to the long, wet strokes of his hot tongue, so keen it was nearly painful. And behind it, a ghost of more-- that inexorable pulse, the sensation of Spock’s consciousness wrapped around him, cradling him, drinking so deeply of him he might vanish, consumed and spent. 

Spock nuzzled against his ear, then bit his throat; he cried out and tipped his head back, briefly glimpsing Nyota in her chair. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. Her hand lay nestled between her thighs; she stroked herself as she watched them together. 

Spock’s hand slid along his arm, then settled on his face, fingers pressing, burning into him, bringing heat like live coals, his mind sinking into McCoy’s, joining them fully.

McCoy heard himself cry out, a desperate, throaty sound only just short of a scream; his whole endocrine system went haywire in response to the limbic shock, and the suddenness of it jerked every muscle taut. He arched so strongly he lifted Spock’s heavy weight right off the bed. Spock growled softly and sank his teeth hard at McCoy’s throat, just where his shoulder joined his neck.

The pain of the bite jolted through him like lightning, going straight to his cock. He writhed, making frantic, needy noises he’d definitely be humiliated about tomorrow, but for now all he could do was plead and moan. Overwhelming sensation sizzled through them. McCoy dug his nails into Spock’s back, gasping for breath. Sweat slicked them both, easing the friction as they ground together. A trickle of blood crept down along his shoulder, and he half-expected it to sizzle, boiling away. Spock lapped at it and McCoy felt his own nails break skin, felt the sticky slick of blood welling against his fingertips. 

Spock suddenly felt violent, dangerous, carbonizing his brain with heat. Fragments of self spun away and coalesced again mingled with the hot red sun of Vulcan, her desert sand baking up heat, her sands scouring him clean-- the blood-warm waters of a Georgia river quenching it, flowing through it, making the desert bloom, the two of them locked together, arching and thrusting and pressing frantically against one another as if bodies could merge like minds.

It was too much; McCoy could not last. He came against Spock’s belly, a violent spasm secondary to the blinding joy of oneness. Spock absorbed the pleasure and contained its sunburst corona, whispering reverent Vulcan words against his skin, echoing deep inside his mind. 

His face was wet, pressed against Spock’s furnace-hot skin; he was whispering too, English mated to Vulcan, a random scattering of endearments, curses, confessions, apologies.

Spock’s dark eyes met his, and he felt them both blink, then saw his own hazel eyes reflected in Spock's darker ones as they opened again, pupils dilated with shock and lust. 

Spock smiled, very faint but distinct, and nuzzled in to kiss him-- a faint iron taste of Leonard’s blood lingered on his lips. McCoy’s whole body responded sluggishly, exhausted; he lifted his arms slowly in spite of that and draped them around Spock’s neck, holding him close. It felt wrong to be separate; he could still sense Spock’s presence inside his mind-- a strangely contained sensation, perfect, symmetrical, nothing he could call calm. Too intent, too intense for that-- too deliberately purposeful, too focused on its desire. On him. 

Spock was far from sated.

Spock dragged their lips together, his mouth open, lazy and sensual as he mapped Leonard’s face, slow and content. The touch sparked new fire along McCoy’s nerves, but his synapses were too saturated with input to function properly; fits and starts of pleasure sparkled across his skin. He could die like this, but he’d mewl for it and cling and beg for more as he went down. 

“My God,” he whispered, awed; his voice crackled and broke. He wasn’t sure if it was a prayer to some possible deity-- or to Spock himself, or maybe even to the new thing that was both of them, blending together in impossible perfection.

Spock lifted him tenderly. _Relax._

He obeyed the command, his whole body yielding. Spock slid inside him gently without the need to open him first; his body did not resist, acquiescing sweetly, and let it happen without pain. McCoy groaned deep in his throat with the necessity of it, the relief. _Finally._

Lovemaking came slowly now, in long, languid waves of satisfaction. Pleasure crested and ebbed rhythmically as they merged deeply together, each slow thrust coming in like the inexorable collapse of a wave at the beach, breaking and running up and falling back, their bodies cradling each other with inevitable perfection. Clinging kisses, slow-flowing heat of thrusting tongues. Hands sliding over damp, sleek skin, foreheads and faces pressed together, lips dragging languid over flesh, clinging, leaving the heat of half-kisses printed everywhere. 

He was aware of music: his own soft cries and Spock’s low exhalations, his quiet sounds of satisfaction, the occasional grunt of effort. The symphony of heart and blood, of lung and breath, of the rustling sheets and the whisper of the air around them. It brought tears to his eyes and a smile to his lips; Spock kissed away the moisture, tasting salt, then shared it between their mouths. 

Spock’s muscles bunched and flexed, building speed and heat gradually. Bliss in his mind; peace in his expression. Impossibly McCoy hardened again, his overtaxed flesh slowly answering the call of soul-deep desire. Spock’s steady rhythm coaxed him toward a final peak, nudging deep within him, igniting flares of pleasure that zinged up his spine. Arousal coiled there with increasing urgency until he was making soft cries in response to each thrust, clinging to Spock’s shoulders, tightening himself each time Spock rocked inward and dragging in breath each time he slid out again. Their hands met and fingers twined, Spock pressing his arms up over his head, lifting himself so he could move harder, faster. 

Spock uttered a low, groaning cry when he came, shockwaves of intensity reverberating through Leonard in unison with their climax. As Spock fell, McCoy held him tenderly, overwhelmed. He could not speak; there were no words, and words were no longer necessary. Only the feel of Spock spilling inside him, only the joy, only the weariness and need to sleep.

Spock collapsed, heavy on him, and lipped softly at his throat, satisfied.

McCoy buried one hand in Spock’s dark, sweat-soaked hair and wound the other around his waist, refusing to let him go. Exhaustion conquered him, dragging a curtain of sleep across his mind.

McCoy slept, barely aware of Spock calling for Nyota, failing to feel her tuck herself into their embrace or pull the blanket over the three of them. 

But the softness of her dreams was part of Spock, and they colored his own, the three of them curled tightly together.


	5. Chapter 5

McCoy woke to an empty space at his side and the muffled sounds of a sonic shower in the next room. He rolled over, discovering Uhura nestled in the blankets on the other side of the empty space, blinking fuzzily at him. Yorktown’s diurnal cycle hadn’t reached “dawn” yet; the windows were still dark. 

“Hi.” He kept his voice low. “He’s an early riser, huh?”

“Every damn day.” She stifled a yawn. “No matter how little he has to do. It takes orders from a Fleet Admiral to get him to sleep in.”

“Figures.” McCoy chuckled. He paused for a moment, realizing he’d developed an affliction common to human males in the morning. “We could provide a him a practical demonstration of the benefits of staying in bed.”

Uhura blinked at him, then her smile stretched, wicked and still a little sleepy. “I like the way you think.”

‘Us humans have to stick together if we don’t want the so-called superior races to run the show.” He slid closer to her, still a little unsure of his welcome, but she came warmly, a yielding weight in his arms.

It was a good start, McCoy decided, kissing his way down her body. He moved slowly, lazy and relaxed from sleep, taking the time to savor her properly. Her skin was warm, luscious with a hint of salt; he tasted it at leisure, making her purr and shift, welcoming him over her. Her nipples stood up for his tongue, and he suckled leisurely, enjoying her soft little whimpers and cries, before gradually working his way down. 

Somewhere along the way the shower noise stopped, but McCoy wasn’t paying any attention. He was very busy, absorbed in the extremely pleasant task of making Uhura moan and writhe as he drew his tongue through her folds and flicked it at the little bud in the center, then nuzzled his way in deep to fuck her with his tongue, nudging his nose at the quivering flesh he’d just abandoned. 

He took his time, nuzzling and adoring every inch of her, building sensation slowly until she was writhing and pleading, making loud breathy moans as her body undulated up to meet his tongue.

When he finally lifted his gaze, alerted by some different quality to the silence, Spock stood there, hips wrapped in a towel, his eyes dilated and lips parted as he observed them. 

McCoy didn’t stop, settling his tongue against her and strumming patiently in a way that made her squeak and dig her nails into the bedding, lifting against him. He licked harder, and her moans turned throaty, desperate. 

He eased her over the crest with relentless skill. She keened wildly for him, bucking her hips up against his restraining arm, sweat slicking her flat belly, her hands fisted in his hair. 

When she relaxed enough to let go, he lifted himself and she gazed up at him, eyes wide and dark, her lips swollen from the pressure of her own teeth.

McCoy smiled at her. “May I?”

She lifted her hips eagerly, and he slid into her like a hot knife into butter, keenly aware of Spock’s gaze following them both. He set his hands on her waist and arched her to meet his thrusts; she wrapped her legs behind him and moaned, hypersensitive from orgasm. Spock’s eyes glinted, dark and intent, but he made no move, standing there wrapped in his towel with his wet hair drying uncombed as he watched them.

McCoy managed to hold his orgasm off for a long time, but eventually Spock’s dark glittering eyes and the sweet clench of Uhura’s body pushed him beyond endurance; he spent into her with a low growl, setting his thumb against her and rubbing with quick, sure strokes until she followed him, wailing up at the ceiling.

They collapsed together, gasping for breath. 

Spock stepped over to the bed and laid his hand on Uhura’s shoulder, stroking lightly for a moment before lifting it and caressing McCoy’s cheek in turn. 

“I will make breakfast,” he said softly and retreated.

“My god,” Uhura stretched, lazy and satisfied. “That was incredible.” She hesitated, though, her eyes darting after Spock. 

“What’s wrong?” McCoy asked, wary.

“He’s never gone down on me. I’m not sure if he just doesn’t want to, or if he didn’t know he should.” She flushed a little, her cheeks darkening slightly. “He can be fastidious sometimes, so I didn’t like to ask, and he didn’t ever offer. I always get to feel whatever he feels, so it’s not like I’ve been deprived or anything, but…” she stretched again with a low purring sound. “Don’t worry about it. You were wonderful, Leonard.” She changed the subject, self-conscious.

“You’re pretty wonderful yourself. I’m betting he didn’t know about that,” McCoy caressed her arm, nuzzling against her neck. “It’s not like he’d go out and watch porn to find out, is it? Wait and see what he does now that he’s seen how much you like it.”

“You know, I was afraid you’d come just to have a chance at him,” she raised herself from the bed, gazing down at him. “Thank you for wanting me, too.” She squeezed his hand and went off to the bathroom, not bothering to cover herself first.

McCoy lay there on his back and considered her words. They had plenty of insecurity to go around, it seemed. 

He wrestled himself out of bed and wrapped a sheet around his waist, wandering toward the kitchen after Spock, who’d found a robe to belt around himself and was busy preparing breakfast.

Spock had already put on a pot of coffee to brew, and Leonard staked it out gratefully, finding an empty mug so he’d be ready when it was. 

“You OK?” He hesitated to offer to help fix breakfast before showering.

“I am.” Spock looked at him, enough warmth visible in his gaze Leonard believed him. “I thought it best not to intrude while you and Nyota were bonding.”

McCoy chuckled, relieved. “I guess that’s one word for it.”

“She appeared very pleased by what you did. I will have to try it.”

“I think that’d make her day,” McCoy chuckled, watching the coffee stream into the glass pot. “Spock… thanks to both of you for inviting me. Last night was,” he hesitated, feeling the platitudes he had in mind were far too weak, but unable to improve on them. “Extremely special, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. I’m honored.” He wanted to touch Spock while he still could, while he was still within this charmed space, the magic circle created by his invitation, so he approached, tentative, and laid a hand on his back. He swallowed against the nervous lump in his throat, hoping he wasn’t unwelcome.

Spock turned, the faintest smile curving his lips, and embraced him inside one arm, leaning in for a kiss without putting down his spatula.

“You two are going to burn the breakfast,” Uhura said without rancor, appearing with her hair wrapped in a towel, and took the spatula from Spock with a flick of her wrist. She turned a pancake and filled McCoy’s mug with coffee.

”Shoo, go get your shower,” she scolded him, pushing the coffee into his hand. “Quick, or it’ll get cold.”

He showered in haste, wondering how long he might stay before he wore out his welcome. Probably breakfast was his formal goodbye; best be gone before lunch. 

His heart hurt at the thought, and he leaned against the inside of the stall, feeling dizzy.

“Leonard,” Spock’s voice came from the door. “You are unwell.” 

Then Spock was there, drawing him out of the shower and pulling him close. He felt the contact refresh him, like air in the lungs of a drowning victim, and looked up at Spock, feeling suddenly near tears.

“Your distress is a residual effect of the telepathic link we formed last night,” Spock said softly. “We will need to remain close until it stabilizes.”

McCoy blinked. “Oh,” he said, uncertain. Link? “I thought--” he drew himself up. “How long is that?”

“Perhaps a day, possibly two.” Spock stroked his cheek. “Breakfast is ready.”

“A few days ago I agreed to meet Jim tonight,” McCoy confessed. “But if you don’t think that’s wise, I can postpone it.”

“We shall see.” Spock too seemed reassured by the contact, standing back only long enough to allow him to dress before setting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him out.

He remained in contact as they ate, left hand resting unobtrusively on McCoy’s thigh. McCoy found it hard to eat with Spock touching him; the contact felt bittersweet, reminding him his invitation was only temporary. He kept wondering when he would have to go, and whether he would ever be granted the chance to touch Spock again.

He hardly tasted the pancakes and juice. However, he made himself finish, and when he had, he fidgeted, wishing he hadn’t eaten so quickly. 

“Let me clean up,” he suggested, taking his plate and glass to the sink.

He caught motion out of the corner of his eye; Spock and Uhura exchanged a long, significant look. Spock reached out his hand, extending two fingers; Uhura touched them with her own. He could sense silent words passing between them-- a buzz he could almost hear. 

“I think I’ll go shopping with Christine,” Uhura said softly. “You boys stay here and talk.” She rose, giving Spock a lingering kiss on the cheek, and let herself out.

Together he and Spock made short work of the cleanup, then changed the sheets on the bed and bundled the shredded set into the recycler. Leonard was glad of the work; the longer he spent in isolation with Spock, the shyer and the more nervous he felt.

When the bed was made, Spock led him into the living room and tugged him down onto the couch, matter-of-fact despite Leonard’s awkwardness, helping him settle until they were tucked together. McCoy closed his eyes, trying not to blush; the contact sent well-being seeping through him, a sensation of perfect contentment, safety… completion. 

“Nyota and I have agreed on a course of action, Leonard.” Spock caressed his hand; his skin felt silky-smooth, baking heat into McCoy. “As our first venture has concluded so satisfactorily, we would like to propose extending your invitation, initially on a trial basis.”

“Satisfactorily.” McCoy hesitated over the word. “Isn’t that damning me with faint praise?”

“Nyota’s praise for you was anything but faint.” Spock’s eyes smiled. “She was very pleasantly surprised by the depth of your consideration for her needs.” 

“Well, Nyota’s a lovely woman. A good person, too.” McCoy flushed. “And your own opinion, Spock?”

Spock’s eyes darkened, and he laced his fingers through McCoy’s. “You have more than repaid both my interest and my faith in you, Leonard.”

All the breath went out of him, and his chest forgot how to work as Spock leaned in to kiss him, the soft brush of lips and tongue speaking more deeply than words. 

“How could I say no to you when you kiss like that?” McCoy drew back at last, breathless, teasing him gently. He ran a thumb over Spock’s lips, and Spock licked it, sending a flare of heat searing through him. 

Spock pressed him gently back and down onto the couch, then slid over him. 

They spent the afternoon there together, trading unhurried caresses and kisses, resting with their bodies entangled as McCoy tried to wrap his head around the fact that this was really happening, that it didn’t have to stop. That he wouldn’t awaken in his own bare apartment and realize he was still alone.

The thought made him blink and he sobered, stroking his hand along Spock’s back beneath his tunic. “Spock?”

“Yes, Leonard?” He responded between leisurely kisses, working his way along McCoy’s arm to the tender inside of his elbow, apparently part of an attempt to catalog him completely.

“We’d better keep quiet about this to Jim.” His heart lurched with sadness, and he hoped Spock would understand. “Not that I’m ashamed of it-- hell, if I could I’d go to the very center of this damned snowglobe and broadcast it over the whole PA system, and brag that people like the two of you would do something like this for me. With me. But Jim….” 

He shook his head. “Jim’s been feeling pretty damned lonely these last few months, Spock, and not just over his birthday. If he hears the three of us are in this together, _without him_? It’ll break his heart, Spock, and that’s the truth.” He stroked his thumb over Spock’s sharp cheekbone, over the delicate line of his eyebrow. 

Spock nodded, sober. “I agree with your assessment, Leonard. I intended to speak of this with you before you departed to meet him.”

“It’d be him here, wouldn’t it, if not for her.” McCoy met Spock’s brown eyes quietly, knowing the answer. 

Spock exhaled slowly. “I spoke to Ambassador Spock of my dilemma before his death,” he confessed. “If not for an accident of timing… you and Jim and I would have become lovers, and Nyota would not be a part of this at all.”

McCoy inhaled softly, surprised, picturing the three of them together-- feeling the rightness of it, the perfection. He realized the projection came from Spock-- and from beyond; from Ambassador Spock, perhaps, who had lived it. 

“Jim told me he pissed her off the day before he joined the academy,” McCoy said slowly. “He said he came on strong, way too arrogant and cocksure. She probably figures he wouldn’t respect her if she gave it up.”

Spock nodded. “Nyota cares deeply for Jim. She has sacrificed herself for his sake, and would do so again. But for her to yield her body to him would require her to abandon dignity, identity, and pride. I cannot ask it of her.”

“Shit.” McCoy sighed. He wouldn’t deny Jim could be a rakehell. And he couldn’t be sorry he was the one they’d chosen, not lying here in Spock’s arms. But it hurt him to think of Jim left out in the cold. “I’ve been working at taking care of him, Spock: spending time with him off-duty, keeping him connected. I’m not going to stop.”

“I will help you.” Spock affirmed. “And you must try to keep your appointment with him tonight. But if we cannot yet sustain the separation, I will come for you.”

“Deal.” McCoy snuggled up to him, marveling again that he could do such a thing. “Spend the evening reconnecting with Nyota, if you can. You’ll need to have your time alone with her, just like you and I will need some time alone together.”

“Precisely.” Spock regarded McCoy, a mischievous light in his eyes. “So that the captain does not suspect, we must continue to argue as we have always done.”

McCoy grinned wickedly at him, lifting himself to nip at Spock’s lower lip. “Of course we’ll do that,” he promised. “That was going to happen regardless.”

Spock very nearly smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

Of course, any plan to pull the wool over Jim Kirk’s eyes in matters of sexual liaisons was easier said than done.

The captain eyed Leonard thoughtfully over the rim of his glass, sipping with an amused air.

“OK, Bones, spill. Who is she?”

He raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his own beer. It was local brew, interesting, made from ingredients grown aboard the Yorktown, with a note of pine in the hops. A little more than he liked, maybe. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell you don’t.” Kirk grinned; he liked a challenge. “Look at you. You’ve got a bite mark peeking out of your collar, and you haven’t stopped smiling since we got here. Where is my Bones and what did you do with him?”

Smiling, huh? Maybe so. And that bite mark…. No way was he gonna erase it. It was going to have fade on his own, and before it did, he was going to take holos. He was proud of that fucker. He reached to touch it, knowing his expression was turning fond, maybe even a little goofy. “Who said it was a she?”

Kirk’s brows rose; if anything, his grin deepened. “You dog. Someone from the ship? A local? I want details, Bones.” 

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” He drank again, stalling for time; he was going to need a good story. 

Kirk pounced, tugging his collar aside for a good look. “Humanoid teeth, nice and straight. Drew blood, too! Wow!” He looked suitably impressed. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Who says it was just one?” He couldn’t keep the smug out of his voice. 

Kirk collapsed into cackles, just like he’d hoped. “So that’s all you needed. A nice orgy, and all of a sudden you’re Mr. Mellow. Look at you. Smiling, relaxed… hell, you’re calm. You’re almost serene.” He leaned in close. “You need to get laid more often, doctor.”

Serene? That had to be identity dissonance, a symptom of hangover from the meld. He flushed a little. Jim’s curiosity cut the edge off his good mood, though, making him worry for his friend.

“Yeah, as if.” He swallowed some more of the tangy beer, grimacing a little. His chest hurt a little, and he rubbed it, absent. “Couldn’t say no to the chance, though.”

“You shouldn’t.” Jim sobered. “I worry about you, Bones. You live like a monk. Hell, you’re worse than Spock. At least he’s got a girlfriend.” 

Spock the monk, whose girlfriend liked pegging and was totally up for trying a threesome. Bones shook his head, unable to hold back a chuckle. “I’m not a heartbreaker like you, Jim. I’m choosy.”

“You wound me.” Jim’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “So tell me everything, and I’m buying for the night.”

McCoy cooked up the wildest story he could think of, complete with green Orion hoochie dancers and a Deltan bartender.

He felt a little dizzy, a little disoriented, the tightness in his chest increasing, but maybe that was just the beer. He threw himself into his story and was just about to get far enough into it to convince even himself when Kirk lifted his head. 

“Spock!” The captain brightened, obviously a little beyond buzzed. “What’re you doing here? Pull up a chair. Bones, start over. He missed the good part. You know, where you got ambushed by the Orion wearing just a G-string in the men’s room when you went to take a leak.”

“Captain. Doctor.” Spock glided around the table, raising an eloquent brow at McCoy, who flushed brilliant crimson. The tightness in McCoy’s chest eased. Damn it, it must be the proximity thing again; no wonder Spock was here. 

“It’s a tale way too racy for those virgin ears,” he hedged, burying embarrassment in his drink. “Might fry the points right off ‘em.” 

Spock widened his eyes, and Jesus Christ, but the guy was a smooth actor; butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth (if he’d eat it at all, which he wouldn’t). 

“My ears are no more or less virginal than the rest of me, doctor.” His gaze dropped to the love bite, then rose again, and heat sparked in his eyes for just an instant, enough to make McCoy’s pants start to feel tight. “But I have no interest in hearing the details of a meaningless sexual encounter.”

McCoy tried not to bristle at the adjective; this was all part of the show. They’d agreed on this, after all.

“Don’t sweat it, Spock; it was a fiction anyway.” Kirk drawled, giving McCoy a wicked grin. “He just doesn’t want to tell me what really happened.”

“I’m wounded, Jim. Really I am.” McCoy couldn’t resist. “So you don’t think I’ve got what it takes to pull a smoking-hot, sexy alien lover?” 

That was definitely a flare of heat in Spock’s eyes. McCoy took a sip of his beer. 

“I think you’re so clueless he’d have to pull _you_ ,” Jim teased. 

Spock tilted his head and raised a brow at McCoy, who sputtered into his beer, all the more indignant because it was true. 

“Goddamned smug for a man who’s had to beg me for a cure for the clap more times than I can count on my fingers.” He set the mug aside. “Like I said. I’m choosy.” 

Sensing he was in danger of losing the argument, Kirk turned to Spock. “What brings you out slumming, Spock? Can I get you a beer or some Altair water? Something.”

“I came in search of the doctor,” Spock said mildly. “I am not feeling well, and I hoped he might agree to examine me.” He looked as innocent as a newborn.

Kirk frowned, concerned. “I hope it’s not serious?”

“I believe he will be able to provide an effective remedy.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” McCoy pushed aside the dregs of his own beer; Kirk looked a little disappointed. “Sorry, Jim.” 

“Mr. Scott is sitting alone in a booth on the other end of the bar,” Spock observed precisely. “He appears to have failed in his pursuit of female companionship for the evening.”

“So I’ll be the one slumming?” Kirk smiled at Spock nonetheless, genuine fondness in his eyes. “Thanks, Spock. Now get moving. I want you in tip-top shape.”

They left together as Jim picked up his beer and went to join Scotty.

“I regret the necessity for the deception, doctor.” Spock fixed him with a concerned look. “But the symptoms of separation syndrome were worsening, and I could feel your discomfort as well as my own.”

“It’s nothing-- this once. But if you pull a stunt like this again, he’ll figure things out, or his name’s not Jim Kirk. He’s already hot on our trail.”

“It should not be necessary. The bond should stabilize within a day, two at most.” Spock looked almost apologetic.

“Bond.” McCoy considered the word. “Last time, you said link. Now it’s a bond… isn't that something permanent?”

Spock hesitated. “It could grow to be, Leonard.”

“Okay,” Bones said softly, his throat tight with emotion. “I'm good with that.”

They stepped into the site-to-site together, and Spock programmed it with efficient speed. Soon they were safely concealed inside the apartment, and McCoy looked around, again feeling inexplicably shy. There was no sign of Uhura.

“Nyota knew you and I would require additional time together to settle the bond. When I became symptomatic, she decided to go out so we could share time alone together.”

“This is tough for her, Spock.” McCoy frowned.

“Yes. I am aware of her difficulty, and will address it at my first opportunity.” He settled onto a wide leather sofa and opened his arms. “We should spend time now in close contact to alleviate the symptoms of separation syndrome.”

McCoy stepped forward and surveyed him thoughtfully, looking for the best way to accept the embrace. At last he settled for sitting down at Spock’s side and resting his back against the arm of the chair, his legs over Spock’s and one arm behind Spock’s shoulders. He felt absolutely ridiculous-- and absolutely perfect. Sighing, he let himself settle, the tightness in his chest finally dissolving. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to play it cool whenever I see you in the line of duty.” He paused. “I still worry like hell that you’ll get inside my mind and be disgusted at all my sordid little secrets.”

Spock gave him a secret, small half-smile. “You are not good at secret-keeping. I must confess that I did initially become aware of your feelings for me through our infrequent episodes of physical contact, doctor.” 

“See what I mean? There’s no trusting you Vulcans.” McCoy grumbled softly. They sat in silence for a moment, and he felt his breath grow shallow; Spock’s dark gaze was warm and inviting. 

“Aw, hell. Don’t give me those puppydog eyes,” he grumbled, and leaned in to nuzzle an awkward but heartfelt kiss against Spock’s lips, just at the corner. 

Warmth and welcome and soft kisses promised heat, but McCoy was so comfortable he couldn’t bring himself to chase it. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of lying nestled against Spock’s side. He let himself drift, enjoying the perfect comfort of feeling Spock's strong heartbeat against his side.

“Nobody would ever believe how much you like to cuddle, Spock.” That was Nyota, her voice fond but a little strained. Her arrival roused McCoy a little, but he stayed still, playing possum. Spock was warm and he was comfortable; he didn’t want to move. “I wouldn’t have thought Doctor McCoy was the snuggly type either, but look at you both.” 

“He was experiencing considerable discomfort and ignoring it for Jim’s sake.” Spock sounded a little exasperated, a little fond. “At present, he is only pretending to sleep.”

“Shut up, hobgoblin.” McCoy cracked an eyelid and looked up at Uhura. “And ask your girlfriend to join us. If you don’t, I think she’s either going to cry or hit you with a poker. And I’m too comfortable to patch you up afterward.”

Uhura made a soft sound, as if she would like to protest but couldn’t quite. McCoy shifted, taking his hand off Spock’s opposite shoulder and leaving it open for her; in a moment she folded herself onto the sofa next to them and settled to press her face against Spock’s throat, sighing. He curled an arm around her, supporting her and cradling her against his side.

“Need me to go?” McCoy offered; it wasn’t an ideal arrangement, and if Spock couldn’t handle emotional input from both of them at once….

“Not at the moment. Not as long as you remain calm.” Spock soothed Uhura, stroking her back, as she sniffled once against his neck. 

They remained there until McCoy’s lumbar vertebrae began to lodge a protest.

“We could be in a bed,” he slid a gentle hand over Nyota’s calf. “Instead of crippling ourselves cuddling on this couch.”

“That is a surprisingly logical observation, coming from you, doctor.” Spock gazed hungrily at Nyota, heat gathering between them. “I have an experiment I very much wish to venture.”

McCoy chuckled; it was hard to tell if Nyota was blushing, but the softness of her face and the way her lips parted revealed she was more than willing to be a test subject. “At least we’re back to insults.” He levered himself up and offered them both a hand. “I don’t know about you two, but that makes it seem a lot more likely this is actually happening.”

“If you have failed to feel to believe in the reality of our joining thus far, then I am apparently failing to discharge my desire for you in a satisfactory fashion.”

“Now he’s insulting himself.” McCoy rolled his eyes.

“Fishing for compliments, more likely.”

McCoy grinned at her, muscling in for a kiss. “Remind me to thank you for coming down on my side.”


	7. Chapter 7

The next week was a dream-- McCoy didn’t go home for days, tucked up in bed with Spock and Uhura, lazy mornings turning into sex-soaked afternoons turning into fever-hot nights. After his bond with Spock settled a little he went to work for a few hours every day, but there wasn’t much to do; once the crew had their routine exams and their psych assignments, he was free to sit at his desk, composing official reports-- and then to dream.

Dream of the sight of Spock with his head buried between Nyota’s thighs, and her breathless, happy cries as he made up for lost time.

Dream of Spock covering him, their fingers laced, moving together.

Dream of burying himself in Spock’s virgin-tight body, and of the soft, sweet noises he made when he was fucked. Intoxicating, impossible, addictive…. Just like seeing Spock with his guard down: open and relaxed.

A very thick, impenetrable wall existed between Spock and the outside world, excluding even his dearest friends; McCoy kept blinking with astonishment to realize he was now inside it. He had to pinch himself sometimes to convince himself he wasn’t dreaming.

He made sure to meet up with Jim every couple of days, not wanting the captain to start feeling isolated and slide back down into the depression that had threatened him before Altamid. Quietly McCoy contacted the more highly placed crewmen, ensuring they too actively sought out their captain to spend time with him. Even Spock took part; Leonard spent a slightly melancholy evening in his office, reviewing the crew’s post-traumatic event psych evaluations, while Spock and Uhura entertained Jim for dinner.

He returned to find Nyota already in bed, resting from her long afternoon of shopping and preparing food, while Spock sat up in the living area to wait for him. Spock put aside his book in a manner that drew Leonard’s attention to the bare space on the couch next to him; he kicked off his boots and put them in the closet, then poured himself a glass of wine. Padding over to the sofa in his stocking feet, he curled up next to Spock and set his glass on the coffee table. 

“How’s Jim?”

“The captain seems well. We negotiated the evening with a minimum of awkwardness. He was, as Nyota put it, a perfect gentleman.”

“Nyota can’t forget the way Jim came onto her when he started at the Academy. He told me about an incident where Gaila took him back to their room; he got caught hiding under the bed. Nyota was in her underwear when she kicked him out.”

“Their initial encounters were quite unfortunate.”

“She never has overcome the initial friction quite as completely as you did.”

“Jim does not always make good first impressions,” Spock agreed. 

“He made a good one on me by not running when I threatened to vomit on him.”

Spock very nearly smiled. “I said nothing of the sort of first impressions you are prone to making, Leonard.”

“I resemble that remark.” The wine tasted tart on his tongue. 

“Leonard.” Spock seemed oddly tentative. “We have melded many times in the past week. I would not care to presume on that experience, but a certain amount of incidental knowledge exchange is inevitable under those circumstances. For example, I am aware that you have seen encounters with my childhood acquaintances--”

“Bullies, you mean.” McCoy frowned at the thought. “Yeah, I did. I didn’t mean to.”

“Nor did I intend to intrude on your memories of prior intimacy.”

McCoy sighed; he could already tell where this was headed. “You aren’t talking about Jocelyn, are you.”

“I am afraid she is not pertinent to this conversation.” Spock lowered his gaze, hooding his eyes to conceal their expression. 

Leonard was getting used to Spock’s evasive techniques by now, and to the weight of his silences. 

“Yeah, Spock, I’ve slept with Jim.” He wasn’t ashamed of it, though the confession made him blush a little; Spock’s eyes were intent on him now, and he knew enough about Spock’s feelings for Jim to guess at his curiosity.

“It was only once.” Leonard met Spock’s quiet gaze. “We were both pretty drunk. Honestly, I don’t remember a lot about that night.” He bit his lip; he remembered more than was good for him. “Hell, Spock, we were cadets, and Jim was just a kid. I let him convince me we should go to a party. He was always more into that than I was. I had too much bourbon. I don’t know what he was drinking. I don’t know why he even came back to our room; hell, there were at least nine girls at the party who’d have jumped into bed with him. Maybe he was just bored with that.”

Spock sat very still, but McCoy could see the stiffness of his hands, of his fingers, and knew what he wanted. They’d done the equivalent often enough, hell-- just not outside the three of them. 

“Well, are you gonna do it?” He raised his head, impatient, tilting his face to offer the psi points. “Or are you gonna sit there and torture me by making me try to say it all out loud?”

“Nyota would not approve.” Spock remained very still, very neutral in posture, but his eyes burned.

McCoy sighed. “Dammit, Spock. You’re in my head more often than not these days. I know you want to know about it, and I don’t know how to shield, so you’re gonna see it all sooner rather than later. I mean, my daddy used to tell me you could cure the hiccups by going out and sitting on a stump not thinking of black cats for five minutes. Guess how well that worked? May as well make the most of the chance to do it right, while I’m offering. It’s not like you’re the one who--” he flushed. _Not the one who rutted all over Jim Kirk in a dorm bed until you both came so hard you saw stars and passed out and woke up glued together, then neither of you ever mentioned it again._

Spock’s hand shifted, betraying his desire, and McCoy sighed, reaching for it. He trailed his fingers along Spock’s, circling them for a moment gently in the palm, then lifted it to his face.

Spock was there, the gentle core of him protected, sealed away beneath shields-- but McCoy could sense how brittle his shields were, how fragile, and how desperately he yearned for Jim underneath.

He gave Spock the memory.

Jim laughing, his eyes glazed, his lips soft and pink and full. The way he bit at Bones’s throat, teasing him, half in earnest. The way Bones seized him back, taking him up on it, watching that pure blue darken with surprise and sudden real interest. 

Kissing. The taste of bourbon and smoke. Teeth fierce, stubble scraping, hands everywhere. He was vaguely aware of Spock’s pulse underlying it all, a quickstep beat, butterfly-soft. Jim’s hands had been rough, a little clumsy from drink; they had fumbled at their awkward uniforms, fighting them, wrenching them away and hurling them anywhere. 

Bones sank fully into the memory of falling onto the narrow, hard dormitory cot together, all hard flesh and silk-hot skin, writhing and grinding, dragging down the last scraps of fabric that separated them. Jim’s eyes had blazed like the blue fire of an acetylene torch, and Bones had tried to devour him, holding him tight, marveling at the power of him, the compact, springy muscle of his arms and back. 

They shared wild, sloppy kisses full of teeth and heat, uttering drunken cries that were way too loud for the thin walls, moaning and whimpering at every new touch. Jim threw his head back as he dragged their cocks together, whimpering as his head fell forward when Bones managed to seal his mouth over Jim’s nipple, biting and suckling. They’d thrashed for control, for dominance, and fallen to the floor and refused to stop, rolling, half-tangled in miscellaneous pieces of red cadet uniform.

Spock licked his lips, eyes wild with flame, and for an instant McCoy was conscious of them sitting together, of the room around them, before he dove back into the memory, dragging Spock with him.

He’d set his cock in the crease of Jim’s groin and pushed against him there, sliding in the sweat, not caring there wasn’t enough slick, liking the mild hurt and the harshness and the terrible, overwhelming compulsion of need. Jim had groaned under him. “Your mouth. Please.”

And Bones had done it, had licked his way down that sweet, perfect chest and tight, flat belly; he’d taken Jim’s taut pink cockhead between his lips, running his tongue under the edge of the foreskin to taste the musk there; Jim’s salt on his lips and his tongue. He’d pillowed that perfect thick cock in his mouth-- thinking, for a fleeting moment, that given Jim’s voracious sexual experience he should be terrified he was going to catch something, but oh well, if he did at least he could diagnose and treat himself instead of seeking humiliating medical help. 

And then he’d gone down, burying his nose in golden curls and everything had been thrashing thrusting desperation and heat and he’d come all over himself when he tasted Jim’s orgasm on his tongue, when he looked up along that writhing, sweat-sleek torso and seen Jim’s mouth fall open and his eyes roll back and heard Jim whimper “Bones…!”

Spock made a tiny, terrible sound: devastated yearning, sympathetic pain …aching need.

McCoy moved forward, breaking the meld, and dragged Spock against him-- just as he’d crawled his way back up Jim’s body and cradled him that night years ago. Jim had evaded his attempts to take another kiss, and Bones hadn’t begrudged it; he didn’t begrudge Spock’s emotion now, curling his lover’s stiff body against his and soothing him, murmuring in his ear. “We passed out right where we were. After we pried ourselves apart the next day, he ran. He was gone for a week, then he was back, acting like it never happened. Sometimes I wonder if it really did.”

Spock’s arms came around him, and Spock tucked his face against Leonard’s neck. He seemed to grow calmer, relaxing, but he obviously wanted to be held; Leonard did so helplessly, not sure how to soothe Spock without shaming him by openly acknowledging the obvious pain and need of his frustrated love-- and he understood it was that, as much as or more than sympathy for McCoy. He settled for rocking Spock’s body against himself, swaying in subtle motions that kept time with his gently-stroking hands. 

“Shhh,” he said, but his face was wet as he remembered the desolation of knowing he’d made a terrible mistake. Spock’s mental discipline via the meld had enhanced and clarified the memory, amplifying his emotions to their original intensity, and it was hard to make himself realize it had actually happened long years ago. 

“Do you believe the captain to be homophobic?” Spock sounded distressed.

“Nah, that’s not it.” Bones sighed. “Jim’s a commitment-phobe, plain and simple. A lot worse then than now. The problem was I mattered too much to him. I was his best friend, so he couldn’t handle thinking he’d have to commit to something long-term between us if we were gonna sleep together.” He patted Spock’s shoulder. “Just wasn’t ready.” 

Spock nodded, his face very sober. “Leonard…”

“What is it, Spock?”

“Jim saw your jackets hanging in the closet when he departed. He received a call requiring his assistance while I was helping Uhura clear the table, and I was not fast enough to retrieve his own jacket for him.”

Bones sat there, trying to process that-- trying to predict what Jim would make of it. He had at least two jackets and a sweater hanging there: the casual leather jacket he’d worn to Jim’s birthday party, a handmade cabled woolen turtleneck rescued from the wreck of the Enterprise that he was sure Jim would recognize, and a dress jacket he’d been wearing after the official decoration ceremony for the heroes of Altamid-- one with his rank and decorations shining all over it. Pretty damning evidence that he spent plenty of time here.

“Oh.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and reached for his wine. “That’s awkward.”

“I believe Jim will not require further evidence in order to draw a correct conclusion.”

Yeah, Spock was right. Jim wouldn’t wait until he actually spotted Leonard’s shoes tucked under the edge of Spock’s bed; he was too smart for that. “I’ll drop him an email and set up a meeting tomorrow. See how he’s taking it.” McCoy sighed and emptied his glass. “C’mon. Let’s get to bed before Nyota starts to worry.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tag cloud has been adjusted; please take note. In keeping with the adjustment, I'd like to apologize in advance to some of you for this chapter. I know a few of you will be disappointed by the relationship developments within. But bear with me, if you would be so kind, and see how things come out? 
> 
> This is how the characters and the story want to go... 
> 
> Gratitude goes out to those of you who stick with me. :-)

Nyota wasn’t worried, though; she lay sleepy and pliant in bed and snuggled up to them both without hesitation, purring contentment when they bracketed her. The one who lay awake brooding was McCoy-- wondering uneasily about the consequences the day would bring to their new relationship. 

This had the feeling of a second shoe dropping, a threat of instability and emotional explosion, the kind of thing he had originally anticipated would drive him from Spock and Nyota’s bed. Now that he was bonded to Spock, an explosion and separation would be even messier. 

And Jim was messy, no doubt about it. Jim had matured a lot since the academy-- being the captain of a starship would do that to you-- but he could blow the whole thing right out of the water. 

Spock’s arm lay over Nyota’s waist, his fingers resting on Leonard’s ribs. Leonard slid a hand down and ran his palm gently along Spock’s arm, his heart twisting in his chest. The thought of losing this new intimacy with Spock hurt more than it should. He was growing fond of Nyota, too, of her mercurial wit and sly good humor, her meticulous attention to detail and her determination to make things work, her welcoming body. 

Spock’s eyes opened, a faint gleam in the darkness. He rose, turning back to glance at McCoy, who slipped away from Nyota and covered her carefully before following.

“I’m scared, Spock.” He admitted it quietly when they were out of earshot. “This is still so new. I don’t want to lose it.”

Spock nodded quietly, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a container of loose tea. McCoy went to fill the kettle at the tap and put it on the stove, turning up the flame. “Nor would I care to jeopardize what we have become, Leonard.” Spock measured the tea carefully. “Yet you have made no promises of exclusivity. I believe what we have could best be termed an ‘open relationship.’”

McCoy waited for his tea, considering the statement from all possible angles. He wasn’t about to crawl in bed with Jim, not after the fiasco at the academy. Nyota wouldn’t let Spock go to Jim either. It was a moot point.

“I would’ve called it just a threesome.”

Spock shrugged and poured the hot water, allowing the tea to steep. 

They wound up curling together on the sofa with steaming mugs, trying to predict Jim’s reaction to the information. They were still there when Nyota woke up and came in to scold them for failing to rest, taking their empty mugs.

Leonard showered and got himself ready to meet Jim for brunch. He gave up and put on one of the jackets Jim had seen in Spock’s closet, feeling like a little schoolkid who’d been called up to see the principal.

“You want me to go with you?” Nyota offered, standing on tiptoe for a kiss. “For moral support?” Spock stood behind her, seeming oddly anxious, watching for Leonard’s response.

Immoral support, maybe. “Nah. I better face the music myself this time.” He kissed her. “You’d scare him too badly. I need to see his honest reaction to all this.”

She chuckled, straightening his collar. “Don’t fall for the puppy-dog eyes. He’s way too good at those.”

“Tell me about it.” He held her close for a moment, then made himself let go. “I’ll try to be back for supper, or I’ll comm if I’m gonna be late. One of the two.”

*****

Jim was waiting for McCoy in the extremely expensive restaurant he’d picked, sitting next to an enormous window that let the false sunlight stream in, warm and golden, picking out the few pale highlights in his hair. If he were out in the sun more often, it would fade to the color of wheat. Since he’d spent so long in deep space, it had darkened to a rich chestnut brown. 

He glanced up to greet Leonard, looking wary and a little tired, the stem of his glass between his fingers. It looked like a mimosa, paired with a plate of ham and eggs and fried potatoes that made McCoy’s arteries harden just looking at it.

“Get some brunch at the buffet, Bones,” Jim invited, his voice just a little too casual. 

Bones did, taking his time, not much caring what he got. He kept glancing over toward Jim, who leaned forward over his plate, not looking up at the window. He didn’t seem to be making much progress with his brunch, either.

Bones came over and flopped down. “Okay, spit it out. I know you’re upset.”

“Not upset. Just wondering why nobody told me anything.”

“It’s pretty recent. Still… unsettled.” Leonard speared a strawberry slice and ate it. 

“How long?”

“Less than a week.” McCoy looked down at his plate. 

“How’d it happen?”

“Nyota hunted me down and asked me over to dinner.” He saw a flicker of hurt on Jim’s face and sighed. “She and Spock had discussed it and they were both interested. They asked me to stay the night. ....I’d’ve been crazy to say no.”

“Yeah,” Kirk agreed. He cut a bite of ham and poked some eggs onto the fork above it. “So what’s it like with them? In bed.” 

Offhand, a little insolent, the tone of the question almost masked the urgent curiosity behind it.

“I don’t feel comfortable discussing Nyota with you, Jim, seeing as how--”

“Not Uhura.” Jim’s voice was very soft, and he hastily tried to equivocate. “I mean… I’ve been with lots of human girls. I know all about them. I was just curious, you know, about…” his cheeks had gone deep, vivid red. 

“About Spock. What? Anatomical differences? Culture clashes in approach and technique?” McCoy huffed. “What makes you think I’d spill Spock’s secrets any faster than hers, Jim?” Other than the fact that Spock knew way more than was fair about Jim, now. Though Jim didn’t know it, McCoy owed him something in exchange for that. 

Jim mumbled an apology and picked up his mimosa, draining it with a gulp and gesturing toward a waiter with the empty. McCoy waited while the man topped off the glass and departed. Then he kept his voice low.

“He’s pretty much constructed like a human male. A few minor anatomical dissimilarities, but nothing too challenging to handle. Similar nerve placement and biological functionality. The big difference is the mind meld. You don’t have to guess at how you’re doing. You find out first-hand, up close and really intense.” McCoy flushed a little and resumed eating, making the most of his chance while Jim mulled the information over. The berries were real and fresh, picked at peak ripeness. They all but melted on his tongue; he sighed with bliss as he chewed and swallowed.

By the time his plate was empty, Jim had settled on something to say. “So he’s actually into it. They didn’t invite you because Uhura needed... more.”

McCoy snorted. “He doesn’t lie there motionless and recite the multiplication table while we use him to satisfy our wicked human perversions, Jim, if that’s what you’re picturing. He’s definitely an active and enthusiastic participant.”

Jim’s lips parted at the word “enthusiastic” and his expression went hazy; Bones couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Blushing even harder, Jim sank his teeth in his lower lip and went back to poking at his now-cold breakfast.

“Are you gonna eat that or just torture it?”

Jim stabbed the ham vindictively and lifted the entire slice off his plate. “I always feel guilty when I don’t finish actual meat. This stuff isn’t synthesized; an actual animal died to be this breakfast.”

“Then put it between two halves of a biscuit or something and bring it along. If you want me to dish details, I’m not gonna do it here.”

“You’re gonna dish details?” Jim’s eyes went wide, the light pouring into the clear blue-- deep like oceans. 

“A few of them.” Bones grabbed a biscuit and tore it open. “In here,” he directed, and snapped it shut on the slice of ham, then wrapped it in a napkin and popped it into his medi-satchel. Not really sanitary, but if Jim didn’t eat something, he’d be cross as a sore-tailed cat by midday.

They walked along one of the radial arms, faces brushed by a pleasant breeze, listening to the lake ruffling against the dura-crete of the walkway. It felt bizarrely natural-- if you kept your eyes on your feet and didn’t look up, and if you didn’t look too closely at the lake and maybe see a ship floating by beneath the surface of the water. McCoy would have liked it better if there were birds-- gulls, even. Or maybe bugs. The emptiness of the air reminded him he was inside the Yorktown, a snow globe, sterile and fragile. 

They found benches and trees, a small park tucked against a skyscraper, and sat in a corner for Jim to eat his ham biscuit while Leonard grounded himself by bracing his back against the bench and made himself look up at the topsy-turvy cities radiating out overhead-- some of them actually upside-down, with people like ants visible, outside going about their business, just like him and Jim. 

Children played nearby, every possible race running and shouting-- they had slides, swingsets, a merry-go-round, even a jungle gym. Bones watched them go at it, wincing a little; you’d think humanity would learn enough sense to quit making monkey bars. But since modern medical technology could patch up a broken skull in half an hour, maybe it didn’t matter as much now that they were so damn dangerous. 

With all the noise, it was unlikely he and Jim would be overheard. 

“I didn’t think you were much interested in relationships with men,” McCoy said after a while when Jim didn’t start the inevitable conversation. “Going by past history and all.”

Jim hooded his eyes and gazed down at the ham and biscuit, now half-eaten. “Girls are easier. Easier not to care too much about, I mean.”

“Fair enough.” McCoy crossed his ankles and leaned back, closing his eyes and pretending there was sunshine to bask in. Their history lay between them, uncomfortable and awkward, like a large animal in a very small room. It had been simpler to communicate this kind of thing with the mind meld; easier, a lot less messy. “What you want to know?”

“What does he--” Jim paused. “Does he... feel?”

“Shit, you already know the answer to that. Of course he does. He feels pretty much the same things you and I do having sex. Sometimes it gets too intense for him-- having two partners touching him at once, I mean. He gets overwhelmed, and when he does, he has to draw back and only meld with one at a time.” Leonard kept his eyes shut and felt Jim’s keen regard boring holes into him. 

“You’ve told him about me, or you wouldn’t be telling me about him.” Jim knew; McCoy heard the absolute certainty resonate in his voice.

“Yeah.” He cracked open one eye. “I did. He wanted to know.”

“I want him.” Kirk made the statement flat, unequivocal, dispassionate. McCoy didn’t buy a bit of the act. Jim had been a seething cauldron of insecurity, lust, and aching need for a year or two now, and all of it was focused on Spock. Seeing Spock, wanting him… Jim had finally grown up a little. He’d realized fucking around wasn’t giving him what he needed. He’d realized he was in love, maybe for the first time in forever. He understood it was with someone he couldn’t have. He didn’t understand why Leonard _could_ all of a sudden. He was angry, hurt, pissed off… _sad._

“He knows that.” Leonard made himself stop before saying _He wants you, too._ That wasn’t his secret to tell.

They sat there in silence for awhile, watching as a teacher came and corralled the children, leading them inside for lessons. The quiet seemed very loud after the cacophony of their happy voices. 

Jim still held the last crumbs of the ham biscuit between greasy fingers. After a while he popped them into his mouth and dusted off his lap. “I’m sorry about what happened at the academy, Bones.”

“I know, Jim.” Leonard stretched. “Water under the bridge. I was just glad when you came back.” 

“Me, too.” Jim settled back and stretched out too, turning his face up to the light. Leonard peered at him, his profile gilded perfectly by the false sunlight, and wanted to kiss Jim so badly it _hurt._

He was falling for the puppy-dog eyes. Spock had let him come here knowing full well this would happen, this years-late rapprochement, this inevitable, long-denied attraction. Uhura had even offered to come and act as a shield against it, and he’d turned her down. She’d known this would happen, too. Spock had even given him _permission._ Fucking _hell._

“God _damn_ it. Fucking Vulcan sonofabitch,” he swore softly, and Jim’s eyes fluttered open. His eyes were deep sapphire blue, full of hurt and need. So much baggage there-- Jim’s failed attempt to run from his love for Spock and the burden of command. The loss of the Enterprise and a third of her crew to Krall over Altamid. The pain of knowing Spock and Bones and Nyota were together now, and he was alone.

All of it leashed, captive, buried. As he watched Jim’s eyes shallowed and grew opaque; he tucked himself away, erecting the captain’s facade. Strong, resilient, enduring… all just as false as the seeming indifference of his admission of desire for Spock. 

“I’m not angry, Bones.” Jim’s voice was very soft. “I’m glad the three of you have each other. I wouldn’t want you to be alone.” _The way I am,_ Leonard heard the unspoken words as loudly as a shout. “You need a family.”

“Damn it, Jim.” He breathed the words: a curse, a prayer. “You’re my family, too.” 

Jim’s lips crushed soft under his and flowered open sweetly, and Jim’s fingers found his and curled into them tightly. Jim hung on fiercely, so desperately it hurt Leonard’s heart. 

“Spock knew this would happen,” he whispered against Jim’s lips. _He couldn’t come to you himself, but he sent me to be here for you. Then when I go home--_. What would happen would happen. Jim needed him now.

“C’mon, Jim.” He drew back, looking at the wariness in Jim’s bright blue eyes, the expectation of hurt. But Jim was home, too. Whatever he needed, Spock and Leonard would both do their best to give to him. “Let’s take this indoors.”


	9. Chapter 9

As he went for his morning coffee, Leonard felt torn between whistling and skulking along in the shadows, trying not to be seen. He settled for strolling casually along the side of the thoroughfare, pretending there wasn’t anything at all strange about having had sex with his captain, the first officer, and the communications officer all within the space of 24 hours. 

His body felt weary, muscles aching pleasantly in all the right places, and he knew there were bags under his eyes. He would have liked to believe he was glowing, happy, but.... Now that it was over and he’d sent Jim off to work for the day, he couldn’t help wondering about the consequences of his decision.

Waking up to find Jim still curled around him, his face soft and peaceful with sleep, though… it was a dream he’d have given his eyeteeth to realize only a couple of weeks ago. But if it was going to make him lose Spock and Nyota, the consequences would be a bitter pill to swallow.

Leonard got his coffee-- taking it black with a shot of espresso-- and went out to find a place to hide.

It didn’t do him any good. A pair of legs clad in crisp regulation Starfleet blacks soon interrupted his brooding; he followed them upward to find a blue shirt belonging to someone with arms folded tidily behind his back. He didn’t need to look further up to know it was Spock, but he lifted his head anyway and scooted over on the bench.

“Have a seat,” he invited, his stomach doing barrel-rolls. “I, uh, hope you meant what you said yesterday. About the open relationship.”

“I did.” Spock sat, serene. “I trust Jim is well.”

Leonard blushed furiously in spite of himself. “He’s fine.” He stared across toward the next arm of the station. A breeze was ruffling the pond there, spoiling the reflections. “Better now that he doesn’t feel so isolated.” The words were inadequate to express everything he felt-- fierce protectiveness for Jim, apprehension for what might yet come, worry about the undercurrents going on right here and now, all but unexplored, between himself and Spock.

Spock nodded, calm as unruffled water. “I thought he would be.” 

Leonard finally mustered the courage to meet Spock’s gaze, and found only calm waiting there. Of course. Spock wanted Jim to be happy; McCoy was sure he would go to Jim himself if Nyota would allow it. If anyone had a problem with this, it would be her. Probably not so much because McCoy had gone outside the multiple, but because it had been with Jim. 

“I keep expecting the other shoe to drop,” Leonard admitted. “For one of you to realize you’re not happy and kick me the hell out.”

But that wasn't going to happen-- not from Spock. Not if Leonard kept giving him what he really wanted: a connection to Jim. McCoy clamped down on the thought, shielding it from the part of his mind where Spock touched his consciousness. He really needed to think shit like that through before letting Spock find out about it, if at all.

Spock was nodding at him. “Nyota was aware of the captain’s depression. We anticipated the likelihood of your situation and she agreed that you were open to go to him if you wanted.”

“So it’s just you who can’t.”

Spock didn’t answer, and they sat for long minutes there as the awkwardness of McCoy’s observation slowly settled between them. 

“It is,” Spock said at length. “Nyota has been in a relationship with me for some years now, and she has become emotionally dependent upon my presence, which interferes with her logic in this matter. It does not follow that she is indifferent to you.”

“No,” McCoy agreed. “You’re her primary. It’s reasonable that she’s more attached to you.” And who was Spock more attached to? Leonard was only sure of one thing: he didn't want to hear the answer to that.

“I anticipate Nyota will seek you out later today,” Spock rose again and prepared to depart, standing aloof with his head tilted, his expression unreadable. His presence in McCoy’s mind felt equally opaque, offering no illumination of his feelings. “I am sure you have much to discuss.”

Leonard grimaced. That was an understatement. He watched Spock depart, feeling strangely hollow and forlorn. Seeing Spock hadn’t made anything better-- it raised a lot more questions than it answered.

He watched Spock out of sight, feeling like a pawn on a chessboard that had just been manipulated by a master. 

After Spock vanished Leonard wandered the streets of Yorktown for most of the day, window shopping without ever settling on anything to buy. He turned his comm off, not wanting to talk to anyone. As the artificially generated evening drew near, he found himself hugging the northwest side of the city center and letting the higher than Earth-normal gravity there wear him out. When he was sweaty and his legs started trembling so hard he thought they might give way, he slowly made his way to a personal transporter. He should be so tired now he would sleep through an earthquake.

McCoy’s fingers hesitated over the control panel, then tapped the coordinates for his own assigned apartment. That was why he’d been wandering in the first place, he supposed: delaying the decision to return home to his own quarters. He hadn’t slept there since the earliest days of his new relationship… but he supposed now was the time to go back.

The place was quiet, a little dusty, and felt forlorn. He’d only stopped by a few times to grab clothes and toiletries and a PADD or two. Now, gazing into the cooler, he grimaced at the few spoiled perishables there, and he put them in the recycler and left the door open so the musty smell would air out. 

His whiskey hadn’t gone bad, which was a distinct advantage of alcohol as a consumable. 

Sitting at his little dining table, gazing out at the ruffled water of a nearby lake, McCoy tapped the glass lightly against his lip and let the fumes from the alcohol fill his nostrils. 

It wasn’t that he felt used, precisely. But then again, he did feel exactly that way. Jim and Spock were fucking each other using him as a proxy, that much was pretty clear. And Uhura might have turned a passive face toward this when he left earlier, but what did she really think? Would he even be welcome if he went back there now that this business with Jim had happened?

Multiples were never easy-- his psych training had been pretty thin on the topic of human polyamory, but that was one thing he remembered. Leonard sighed and rolled a measure of the liquor around on his tongue, then swallowed and focused on the burn as it went down. 

The exterior door chimed, then activated immediately. That meant it was either Spock or Nyota. Leonard kept his eyes on his glass, not really wanting to see which of the two had come to beard him in his den. 

Motion in his peripheral vision told him it was Nyota, just as Spock had predicted. She fetched herself a shot glass from the cupboard, then slid in across the table from him.

Uhura swallowed a shot with a slight grimace and set the glass between them. Leonard looked up slowly to meet her waiting gaze. She looked sad, faintly drawn with weariness and worry. 

“How’s Jim?”

“Better’n he was.” Leonard poured them another. He didn’t want to go into specific details of their evening with her.

She raised a brow and didn’t inquire. Leonard rubbed his jaw, feeling the evening stubble starting to come in. “I was better than nothing.” That was a shitload of bitterness, a lot more than he’d intended.

“I’m no Vulcan, but I’ll bet I can guess what you’re feeling right now.” She swirled the shot slowly. “I’m right there with you, you know. You’re wondering if Spock just brought you in to get at Jim somehow; you don’t know what your place is anymore. We’re both at sea in that boat.” She tipped back her second and smacked the glass down. “I should’ve known that if I wasn’t enough, you wouldn’t be either. I wonder lately whether he’s counting on us being there for one another after we lose him.”

Leonard’s heart twisted-- for both of them. “Sounds like you’re jumping to conclusions.” He hesitated. “Maybe he’s counting on us to be there to pick him up if Jim cuts him loose.”

“That assumes Jim will cut him loose.” Her eyes bored into him like augurs. “Will he? If they get together?”

“That’s what you’re assuming, isn’t it?” McCoy stared right back. “That Jim’s not a suitable partner? That he’s still the man-whore he was back at Starfleet Academy? The one who’s seduced every promiscuous life-form within a fifty-light-year radius, including farm animals? Good enough to die for his crew, hell, good enough to die for in the line of duty-- but not good enough to share your bed? Not good enough to share Spock’s bed?”

Uhura’s fingers tightened on her shot glass; her lips pinched even thinner than before.

“Or are you just afraid Spock won’t have anything left for you once he’s been with Jim?” 

She poured and drank again without speaking. After a moment Leonard joined her. “That thought scares me, too,” he said gruffly. “I mean, I’ve got Spock in my head now; I oughtta be able to take his… affection… at face value. I oughtta be able to believe in it. But insecurity springs eternal. I always used to wonder why, if he was a telepath, you two were always at loggerheads and never seemed to understand each other. But now I get it.” 

McCoy picked at the label on the whiskey bottle, feeling helpless. “I reckon we’re both sitting here because we don’t want to face Spock with all these questions screaming in our heads. So let’s answer the questions we can-- are you too mad at me for going with Jim to trust me again?”

Her poise collapsed in slow stages as she exhaled a whiskey-scented sigh, her shoulders sinking. 

“No, Leonard.” She gazed over his shoulder, her forehead crinkled with pain. “I’m not angry with you.”

“Good to know.” He put the stopper into the bottle, wondering if she was telling him the truth. She probably thought she meant it, at least for the moment.

“Jim obviously needs somebody.” The words came jerkily, as if dragged out against her will. “I was hoping Spock wouldn’t just keep wanting him, but…” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Hell, Leonard. Sometimes I don’t even know why I keep trying to make things work with Spock, but I’ve got too much invested in him just to turn tail and cut my losses.” Her brown eyes fixed on his face, pleading. “I’m just trying to hold my ground. To hold onto the man I love… that sort of means you too, now.” One corner of her mouth lifted a little, self-deprecating.

Leonard felt a soft flutter in his belly and a flush of heat along his cheekbones; she sounded like she meant it. 

“Well, I’m not goin’ anywhere unless you kick me out,” he muttered. “You’re exhausted, Nyota, and I’ve drunk enough booze in my day to know we aren’t going to find the solution to this at the bottom of a bottle. Let me find you a clean T-shirt and we’ll get some sleep. Things might look better in the morning.”

She followed him into his bedroom and took the T-shirt he held out, stripping unselfconsciously to pull it over her head. He peeled down to his own boxers and opened the bed for them, enjoying his glimpse of her sleek body, but when she came to him, he didn’t try to start anything, just gathered her close and tucked her head under his chin.


	10. Chapter 10

It seemed to McCoy that morning dawned faster on Yorktown than on Earth; the artificial lighting sources brightened from the dim of night to full daylight over a brief, half-hour period. He lay still and watched the transition with Nyota nestled in his arms; eventually some part of his mind recognized the enticing scent of coffee, but he couldn’t remember setting the percolator before going to bed. 

“Spock’s here,” she murmured, lips warm against his collarbone.

“Nnnf,” he agreed lazily.

“He does this whenever he figures out he’s done something wrong. He cooks before I wake up and does little things around the place he knows I hate to do. It’s his way of showing he cares.” She didn’t move to get up, so Leonard didn’t either.

“Vulcan bribery?”

She chuckled, rueful. “He doesn’t mean it that way. He doesn’t know what to do or say, but doing domestic chores is him trying to express that he wants to make amends. Logically, he’s contributing to the upkeep of the relationship and the household.”

“Would it be accepting his apology to drink the coffee?” McCoy hoped not; it smelled like heaven.

“Mmmhmmm. We should leave him hanging a while first.” She snapped her panties off her narrow hips with a quick flip of her wrists, then pushed him over onto his back and nuzzled closer, flicking little kitten-licks against his collarbone and throat. 

That brought him to attention in a hurry, and he was glad she was female-- he was lazy and comfortable and there wasn’t any need to fumble with lubricant. He could just slide right inside her welcoming body and start to move lazily under her.

Neither made any particular effort to be quiet, and Spock couldn’t possibly miss the noise they made together. Leonard tried not to feel guilty about that.

They made it last as long as he was able. Nyota reached climax with a crescendo of small cries that made the silence in the next room seem deafening by comparison. Leonard fell back, gasping for breath, her weight pleasant on his chest-- but now the covers were too warm, and he finally urged her to stir off him, tucking himself back inside his shorts while she smoothed down her borrowed T-shirt.

“Shower?” he hesitated, sitting on the edge of the bed. Spock always seemed so perfect, so put-together…. Would it be unforgivably rude to go to breakfast this way?

“No, we go out just like we are.” She padded out without bothering to put her panties back on, rumpled and smelling of sex.

Leonard sighed and followed in her wake, making a beeline for the coffee machine. A couple of swallows later, he felt a little more like himself, able to actually take in what he was seeing. Spock was indeed cooking-- of all things, he was frying bacon. Leonard blinked in disbelief. _He must know he’s in **deep** trouble._

Spock waited for both of them to settle and to look up at him; having achieved this goal, he gathered himself and spoke. _“Ni'droi'ik nar-tor._ I ask forgiveness,” he said quietly, still holding the spatula in one hand. 

“A bacon apology?” Nyota shook her head with amazement. “Then you must have a pretty good idea how upset we are.”

“I caused you both pain; I am glad you were able to turn to one another for comfort.” Spock responded, subdued. “I had not intended injury to either of you. I perceived Jim was urgently in need of companionship. The doctor was not averse to helping him, and I failed to predict he might feel he had been manipulated as he does. Additionally, Nyota, I hoped you would perceive that Leonard’s being with Jim did not threaten what we have developed between the three of us. But in my eagerness to pursue a solution to Jim’s problem, I have inadvertently created emotional complications I did not expect.”

“This happens too often,” Nyota said, her voice dry. “We’ve discussed this before. We need to communicate about these things ahead of time, Spock. I’ve told you about what happens when we assume.”

“When I assume, I make an ass of ‘u’ and of ‘me,’” Spock responded calmly, and if the situation hadn’t been so serious, McCoy would have burst out laughing at his solemn rendering of the old cliché. “I am sorry.”

“And don’t tell me this is all about helping Jim, either,” she flared suddenly. “Part of this is about getting _you_ what _you_ want. Isn’t your altruism just an excuse in this case, Spock?” 

McCoy rose hastily, slipping in behind her and sliding a tentative arm around her belly, hoping to calm her before she went out of control. “Hang on. You sure you aren’t transferring your anger at me onto him? I was the one who actually slept with Jim.”

She wavered on the verge of lashing out again-- this time at both of them-- before taking a deep breath and letting it go. “I’m not angry with you for sleeping with Jim. I’m angry with Spock for setting you up to do it because he wants to do it himself after we agreed he wouldn’t.” Her eyes snapped up at Spock for a tense, angry moment.

“I am sorry,” Spock conceded. “I have erred in my actions and caused you both to fear that I care more for Jim than I do for you.”

“That’s three apologies,” McCoy noted; he might not want Uhura to lose her temper, but he wasn’t 100% happy with Spock himself. “One’s enough for anybody who means it. Time to put your money where your mouth is, Spock. My old granny always said you couldn’t plan sin and repentance in one package.”

“If I understand the metaphor, your grandmother was correct.” Spock straightened, then turned to the stove, neatly flipping the bacon out onto a paper towel before it could scorch. “How may I make amends?”

“My granny would’ve said you’ve gotta live your witness.” He figured Spock didn’t have any more clue what that meant than he had as a kid. “In other words, act like you mean it.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and served the bacon; McCoy cut his eyes to meet Uhura’s, unable to entirely suppress the upward curve of his mouth. _He’s trying, _his look said, and her wry nod acknowledged it.__

__McCoy just didn’t know how long Spock could try before he failed._ _


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've become aware that some readers are becoming very personally invested in this story, identifying strongly with Jim, and are very upset with how he's being treated. I too have been in bad situations where I was the odd partner left out of a triangle, and the feeling sucks-- and in real life, yeah, you should bail as soon as you realize your partners or prospective partners don't treat you with enough respect.
> 
> But we don't always do what's best for us, do we? And that's why I personally have always gotten badly hurt in relationships where the partner or prospective partner just isn't that into me. Because I didn't let go nearly as soon as I should have. So I sympathize with anyone who is feeling intense unhappiness on Jim's behalf (or even on Bones's or Uhura's or Spock's-- each of them is hurting), and feels like their favorite character(s) should bail. I bet we've all felt the terrible hurt that comes with not getting what we want or deserve. 
> 
> But this is a story, not reality-- and unlike real life, I can make it come out the way I want. So for those of you who are personally upset, please consider that though the story is angsty right now, it's very likely that there will be a happy ending for all the characters regardless whether they wind up together or not. Maybe that's unrealistic... but that's what fantasy is for. ;-) 
> 
> If that doesn't help, you might need to step back and read something else that doesn't trigger your distress so intensely. ♥

Spock _did_ try. As the new week began, the Enterprise bridge crew and department heads convened to supervise the outfitting of their work areas. 

McCoy had to admire Spock’s behavior toward Jim; he was absolutely correct. He behaved precisely as he had before the attack that took down the ship, aloof and logical in perfect Vulcan measure without being actually cold and withdrawn: efficient and accessible, unaffected. 

McCoy found it rather harder to deal with Jim precisely as he’d done before their encounter. Their eyes often met and Jim’s would soften, making Leonard feel bashful and self-conscious, as if what they’d done was tattooed on his forehead in neon green. That was all Jim did, though; he didn’t change the way he touched or talked to Leonard unless they were alone in Jim’s quiet little apartment.

By mutual agreement, Leonard reserved a day and a half at the end of the week to spend with Jim, planning to make it a long-term arrangement. As the first scheduled weekend drew near, he found himself torn between anticipation and worry over the situation-- not over Jim or even Uhura, but over Spock.

Spock had been absolutely impeccable in his contact with Jim… but at home, he was subtly changed. He spent considerable effort placating Nyota-- treating her attentively, reassuring her he cared, cuddling and touching and sharing with her. 

However, now that Leonard had begun having sex with Jim, the telepathic communion he had shared at first with Spock had diminished significantly. Though Spock did not shun him and he was always welcome and well-satisfied in bed, a disturbing emotional distance had formed between them overnight. He could still sense Spock’s existence and relative state of well-being through their bond, and though they could still experience each other’s pleasure during sex, there was no more direct transfer of thoughts, emotions, or memories between the two of them.

They did not speak of the change. 

If that was the price that was demanded for Jim’s well-being, McCoy would reluctantly pay it. He and Spock were still physically close, but McCoy began to experience an innate disquiet-- perhaps the same feeling that had initially prompted them to reach out to him. Something was not complete; something was not fully right. 

It was the damned memories. If Spock opened the full telepathic channel between them, he’d be privy to Leonard’s recent memories of Kirk. They would doubtless pose a significant temptation to Spock. Uhura definitely would not approve.

McCoy scowled at himself. Pining after someone he was actually in a relationship with pissed him off.

“You’re quiet, Bones. Trouble at home?” Jim tackled the elephant in the room as they sat quietly eating chicken parmigiana and drinking wine after a long day of wrangling endless internal plan change details with the designers of the new Enterprise.

McCoy speared a bite and chewed to give himself time to compose a tactful reply. 

“It’s me, isn’t it.”

Bones sighed and accepted the inevitable. “You aren’t entirely uninvolved.” 

“You don’t have to--” Jim started to fold inward like a fan.

“Dammit, I want to!” McCoy dropped his fork with a clatter. “I’m not here as your doctor or your psychiatrist on some reluctant ‘Well, Jim needs to get laid’ housecall!” 

“I know Uhura doesn’t approve of me.” Jim pushed his plate back and picked up his wine. “She’s never forgiven me for coming onto her the night we first met.” He gave Bones a crooked, painful grin. “She accused me of fucking farm animals.”

“And if your family’s cows had been sentient and of age, you would’ve. Then.”

“Maybe.” Jim tossed back the last swallow. “After the farm animal conversation, I started a huge barroom brawl and got beaten half to death. Then there was the business with Gailla. That didn’t help.”

“Nor did the incident with Christine Chapel.”

Kirk winced. “Would it help if I send her a lavish apology and make sure Uhura sees it on the way through?”

“Probably not.”

Kirk nodded and poured another glass. “So she doesn’t want to share.”

“Not particularly.” McCoy picked up the remains of his meal and grabbed Jim’s plate too, taking refuge in domestic duties. _I’m just not the one she minds sharing._

“What about Spock?” Jim leaned on the doorframe, watching McCoy with sharp attention. He was no telepath, but he hadn’t missed McCoy’s unspoken thought. It was pretty obvious, given that Leonard got to be intimate with Jim while Spock didn’t.

“What about him?”

“Does he object to sharing?”

“No.” Bones filled a sink with water and soap and started scrubbing. He wished he was back at the Academy on dish duty; two place settings wouldn’t keep him occupied for very long.

“I can read you like a book. There’s something you aren’t telling me.”

“There are hundreds, if not thousands, of things I’m not telling you.” McCoy rolled his eyes and started drying the clean dishes, then tucked them away in the cabinet.

Jim waited him out, his expression patient and a little sad. “This shouldn’t be a sacrifice.”

“It’s not.” Leonard sighed and went to him, kissing him lightly. He put his hands on Jim’s hips and drew their bodies together. 

“If Uhura doesn’t like to share, then why did they bring you on board? And why do they put up with you coming to me?” Jim was like a bulldog worrying at a bone-- he wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied he understood, and no amount of distraction would keep him from it. 

“It’s a polyamory thing. There are primaries and secondaries. Spock and Uhura are primaries. I’m a secondary. I follow different rules.”

“You don’t mind playing second fiddle?” Kirk frowned. “And what does that make me?”

“You’re peripheral.” Bones didn’t know the accepted term for someone who wasn’t a part of the main multiple, but the word sounded good. “And I don’t exactly feel inferior,” he lied. “I just have a little more freedom.” He hadn’t felt inferior at first-- not until Spock withdrew telepathic intimacy from him. Now….

“Who’s your primary?” Kirk frowned, still niggling away at things obsessively, and Leonard shut him up with a kiss, profoundly uncomfortable with the question. Everybody in this ridiculous setup wanted someone else more than him. Spock was (trying not to) use him to get at Jim. Uhura was using him to keep a rein on Spock. Jim had accepted him in lieu of an offer from Spock. It was downright depressing when he let himself brood over it.

“If you’d rather not make out, let’s go out to a movie or a concert or something.” Preferably something that would keep Jim’s mouth shut for a while. 

“Bones.” Jim’s eyes were still sad. “I worry that you’re so busy taking care of everyone else, you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Maybe not. But I’m getting laid every damn day, and it’s by three of the ten most sought-after people on the Enterprise.” Bones took refuge in sarcasm. “I’m a big boy, Jim. I can handle it.”

“If you say so.” Jim’s gaze turned predatory. “But tonight? I take care of you.” 

“Jim, I--” 

Kirk ignored him, sliding to his knees and hooking Leonard’s slacks with his thumbs, dragging them down to his knees. 

It only took a second or two to go from limp as a dishrag to quivering hardness in Jim’s mouth-- so fast Jim had to back off and grin at him before swallowing him down again.

The bright blue eyes that gazed up at him were full of love; Bones lowered a trembling hand to stroke Jim’s face and jaw, trying to give that love back in full measure. 

Jim was good at this-- so damn good it left McCoy wondering how in the hell he’d missed knowing about the male lover(s) who’d taught Jim to suck cock. He staggered, shoulders fetching up against the wall, and braced there, fighting to get enough air into his lungs to keep from passing out. 

Jim fucked his own mouth relentlessly with Leonard’s cock, sucking and licking, saliva trickling down his chin.

“God!” Leonard heard himself whine-- there were some things Spock just hadn’t mastered yet, and a good old fashioned sloppy blowjob was one of them. It was all in the reckless _enthusiasm._

Jim purred, moving faster, his mouth hot and slick and tight. Leonard rocked his hips, unable to hold back, seizing Jim’s head and adjusting him. Jim let him take over, still sucking hard as he thrust. Jim’s face was wet now, eyes watering, but he was still humming with pleasure. 

Bones was so far gone it took him by surprise when Jim’s finger breached him, curving just so. His thrusts turned ragged and his head hit the wall; he knew he was pulling Jim’s hair but he couldn’t let go, couldn’t, couldn’t--

Leonard groaned from the depths of his chest and gave it up, trying to pull out so he wouldn’t come in Jim’s mouth, but Jim followed, mouth open; he eagerly caught the jets of Leonard’s come on his face and his tongue, gazing up at Leonard sweetly when it was done, a wicked smile on his swollen lips. 

“There’s more where that came from, Bones.” Jim’s voice was rough and husky. “Soon as you can get it up again, I’ll let you have my ass, if you want it.”

Jim was the perfect combination of filthy and sweet. Leonard forced his hands to unlock from Jim’s hair and gently brushed a glistening trail off his cheek. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t sit down for a week,” he promised, voice shaking. He trusted Jim to know it meant ‘I love you.’

“That’s the Bones I know and love.” Jim gave a final gentle little lick to the tip of Leonard’s cock before releasing it. His smile then could have made an angel weep. 

_He’s changed so much._ Leonard caught Jim’s hand and hauled him to his feet. “Looks to me like you’ve been so busy you neglected yourself, Jim.” Not just while giving Leonard a blowjob, either. How long had Jim neglected his own self-care in critical ways? Longer than Leonard had known him. 

“I want to come when you fuck me,” Jim blushed a little, averting his eyes, his lashes golden on his cheek. It could have been sly, flirtatious, consciously seductive-- but it wasn’t. Bones recognized his honesty.

“I’ll make that my first priority.” He tugged Jim toward the bedroom. “But let’s see if we can’t keep you busy while you wait around for me to recover.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review the revised pairings and tags before proceeding. Don't like? Don't read. I'm not holding a gun to anyone's head here.

_Spock would give the points off his ears to know how that felt._ Freshly showered and exhausted, Leonard lay with one arm wrapped around Jim, watching false moon-shadows dance on the wall. Jim was already asleep, drooling a little on Leonard’s chest. Sometimes his leg twitched, or he’d give a little snort; he was a restless sleeper. 

Leonard didn’t really mind. This being Yorktown, most of his surgeries and other medical interventions were pre-scheduled well in advance; he probably wouldn’t have to worry about getting hauled out of bed by a red alert and dragged into an interminable round of do-or-die massive trauma repairs nobody else could cover. He ran his hand gently over Jim’s shoulder, trying to soothe him into deeper sleep. 

He wondered how Spock and Uhura were getting on. It was a fifty-fifty shot as to whether they were feuding or cuddling. They might even be doing both, for all he knew. Tensions were on a hair trigger in that quarter these days, and Leonard still worried that maybe Uhura was transferring some of her pissoff at him onto Spock’s tally sheet. 

Uhura worried him. She was definitely out to expand her social horizons. She had recently begun to make noise about taking Leonard clubbing, an activity Spock absolutely could not tolerate given the volume of human club music and the sensitivity of his Vulcan hearing. Leonard also secretly winced at the idea. Hanging out with Uhura quietly at home while Spock was busy elsewhere and they were waiting for him to finish and come back was one thing… but clubs were for the young, and Leonard was more than a decade past his own brief and decidedly lackluster experience with the club scene. 

“You’re brooding.”

“Shut up. I’m basking in our togetherness.” Leonard endured patiently as Jim fumbled for the sheet and wiped the drool off his chest. 

“For what it’s worth, brooding is the reason why I wasted all those years on one-night stands.” Jim looked insufferably smug. “They helped me avoid complications.”

Leonard gouged him companionably in the ribs, and Jim chuckled at him. “Relationships are hard.”

“You’re trying to tell this to a divorcé?”

“Mmmm.” Jim sucked on Leonard’s neck, making him shiver. “Since we’re both awake, let’s make the most of it.”

Leonard wrestled with Jim contentedly, not much minding when he wound up on the bottom. Jim’s white teeth were sharp, but not too fierce, and he squirmed, aligning them comfortably. Jim settled in and rocked against him, smiling a little, the filtered light catching his face in irregular patches of light and shadow, just bright enough he could almost make out the blue in Jim’s eyes.

Leonard sighed with contentment and settled his hands on Jim’s ass, pushing up against him, feeling sultry and relaxed. They’d already settled in as if they’d been lovers for years. Something important about Jim truly had changed while everything else remained the same; their energy together had swiftly come to feel calm and secure. There was little of the frantic sense of urgency that drove his couplings with Spock and Nyota; he and Jim had been friends for so long they fit together more securely, with less fuss. If the sex dried up tomorrow, Leonard knew Jim would still need him, would still love him-- and he’d still love Jim. They’d find a way to stay friends somehow.

Sure, Jim was curious about Spock; sure, he wanted him… but when he was with Leonard, he behaved in a way that didn’t leave Leonard wondering if he was just serving as a surrogate.

Leonard tucked his face against Jim’s throat, nuzzling there, and felt Jim purr against him. 

“If I hadn’t been such a shithead back at the academy, we could’ve had this all along,” Jim muttered. “Jesus, Bones.”

“Shut up,” Leonard said again and kissed him tenderly, belying the harshness of his words, then rolled them over, wrapping one hand around their cocks and stroking lazily. “You’re still a shithead.”

Jim made a strangled sound that was half-laugh and half-gasp. 

“You’re _my_ shithead,” Bones told him, and shut Jim up with kisses when he tried to argue.

*****

Leonard took the remaining half-day of his weekend for himself, turning off his communicator and rambling around Yorktown on foot, avoiding his usual haunts. He wanted the time to try and settle his head, which felt so scrambled he didn’t know which way was up anymore. 

He considered all of them, this crazy jigsaw puzzle that seemed to defy solution, and wondered how the hell he’d let himself get talked into it in the first place. Thinking with his dick, that was how. McCoy sighed. The damned thing was determined to be the death of him.

Nyota: fiery, angry, defensive-- caring too deeply, trying desperately to shield all the places she was most vulnerable. She was more like Leonard than he’d ever have guessed before all this. She was more than half the damn problem all by herself, but he couldn’t bring himself to blame her or to resent her for it. She was doing the best she could to hang on to what mattered to her, and she was afraid. She just couldn’t see she needed to let go before the ferocity of her grasp caused everything to ooze out from between her fingers and be lost. McCoy would probably do the same damn thing in her place.

Spock: inscrutable, so seemingly certain he could stay safely in the eye of the emotional storm, so infuriatingly oblivious to just how close he was to failing, which would mean everybody got fucking _obliterated_... might as well jam all their fucking hearts in a goddam plasma exhaust fan going at full speed. Spock was absolutely needy and absolutely in denial. McCoy could kick him, he really could-- if he didn’t wind up kissing him instead. It hurt too much to think of Spock right now, of being shut out from that place just between the two of them where they both understood and cared about one another, a place Leonard had just started to feel maybe he belonged before it dried up and went away.

Jim: carrying the burden of command and friendship alike on his shoulders like Atlas holding up the world, regretting the foolishness of his youth, willing to take what others were willing to give, not asking for more, so _fucking_ worried about Leonard, just like he always worried about everyone else before he took care of himself, expecting himself to be invulnerable just like everybody else did, Jesus _Christ_ , Jim was a walking recipe for burnout and depression. No wonder he’d been tempted to bail out into the admiralty. No, somebody had to take care of Jim, and nobody would do a better job of it than Leonard McCoy, because Leonard understood Jim and loved him like nobody else in the universe. In a way McCoy couldn’t explain even to himself, Jim was _home_. 

“For a nickel, I’d say fuck it all and stay with Jim,” Leonard grumbled to himself. But that wouldn’t work over the long term, because _Spock._ Only maybe it would work, eventually, between the three of them... but the cost would be to devastate Nyota, and Leonard wasn’t willing to be the one who chose for her to pay that price. 

He found himself standing in the plaza where the Franklin had ultimately crashed. It was finally gone, but there were still scars in the duracrete from the impact: filler had been packed into the scars and sealed to smooth them over, the patches pale and unworn compared to the surrounding pavement. You couldn’t fix damage that bad so well it was like new. Hearts were like that, too. Once broken, they could be repaired, but they never really went back to the same way they were before.

He wandered over to the edge of the reflecting pool and gazed along the nearest radial arms toward the exterior. The minor damage he’d done driving the bee ship wasn’t visible anymore, at least not from here. Maybe those repairs had been better disguised.

Leonard tipped his head back, eyes seeking the control center where the atmospheric circulation took place, the beating heart of Yorktown. If they couldn’t resolve this situation somehow before the new Enterprise was ready to go on her shakedown cruise, things would get even worse. Once you were cooped up with people in the closed confines of a starship there was nowhere to go, no neutral places or people to help you relax and blow off steam. You went stir-crazy stuck in closed confines with the same people you were fighting with day after day, forced to work with them to get things done, and tensions multiplied.

Maybe he should take Nyota clubbing after all; it might help her get some perspective. She was getting old enough she might realize how terrible it was out there in the meat market and see how good she had it spending quiet nights at home.

Between one moment and the next, Leonard became aware of Spock’s presence; the Vulcan stood approximately five feet aside from him on his left side. He didn’t react, but he knew Spock was aware he had been noticed.

“Nyota is preparing a meal. Will you come home to eat?” He used the word ‘home’ as if it were self-evident. Maybe, for him, it was.

“She wants to go clubbing later, doesn’t she,” McCoy sighed. “Do you want me to go with her?”

“I believe it would be desirable, yes.” Spock watched McCoy quietly as they began to walk. “In light of my own freedom to indulge in bringing you to our bed, and yours in becoming intimate with Jim, I believe it fair to indulge Nyota in her own pursuits.” 

“Pursuits.” McCoy laughed. “You talk like she’s going after a piece of her own on the side.”

Spock raised a brow, but did not contradict him.

“Oh, god. Don’t we have enough lovers to deal with already?!” 

“She would not bring him home to our bed, just as you do not bring Jim to it.” Spock paused. “I have neglected you recently, Leonard.” He felt a flutter of regret and tenderness touch their bond, a tease of what he yearned for. “I am gratified by your faith in me. Please continue to be patient. It should not be long now.” 

Leonard hung torn between anger and the need to melt against Spock, melt right into him, and let himself bask in the connection he’d been missing. Anger won by a not-so-narrow margin.

“Be patient while you play poker with all our lives?” His voice sharpened. “Do you have any idea what the stakes are in this damn _game_ of yours, Spock? Have you ever felt heartbreak? And here you are, planning at least two-- maybe four. I’d say five, now that you’re letting Nyota drag somebody else into this train wreck, but maybe _you_ don’t have feelings after all!”

Spock lowered his gaze. “Jealousy is illogical when there is love sufficient for all. Ours is not a culture in which a couple must band together exclusively in an attempt to ensure fiscal survival and adequate prosperity in which to nurture a child. I am waiting for this logic to become apparent to Nyota.”

“Sufficient.” Leonard shook his head in disbelief. 

“An unlimited commodity must necessarily be classified as sufficient.” Spock remained unruffled.

“Ohhhh boy. You don’t even _start_ to see the contradictions in what you’ve just said, do you?!” McCoy shook his head in disbelief. “Where the hell do you get the idea you-- or anybody else in this-- has unlimited affection to give? But maybe you do, and you just get off on withholding it.”

“Just because I express my affection in the Vulcan way--”

“--By withholding it and not expressing it _at all_ most of the time!--” 

“--it does not follow that my affection is limited. And I do express it. I am expressing it now by trusting Nyota to indulge her interest in Mr. Scott and then return to us. Call it an object lesson.”

“Jesus Christ on Kronos with a bat’leth, Spock. Leave poor Scotty out of this. He won’t have a damn clue what hit him!”

“That seems exceptionally likely.” A maddening flicker of humor warmed Spock’s eyes. 

“I’ll be goddamned straight to the pit of hell. Fucking goddamned hobgoblin. You’ve got ice water in your fucking veins, Spock. I’m not talking to you, goddammit. Stupid motherfucking sonofabitchin _bastard_ ,” McCoy sputtered to himself, gesticulating wildly. Other pedestrians gave them nervous stares and passed around them cautiously, leaving a wide space around them. 

Leonard had run himself down by the time they arrived at the apartment, and made good on his promise that he wasn't talking to Spock during the meal. Nyota seemed quite cognizant of the state of affairs and obliged him by not speaking to Spock either, which made for an awkward supper. 

“Get your dancing shoes on,” McCoy muttered at her when it was over, _glaring_ at Spock. Maybe this was the one thing that would teach the calculating bastard a bit of jealousy-- a bit of _humanity._ “I’m taking you out.” Maybe he could coax her into spending the night with him at his apartment and they could just let Spock believe otherwise-- make him fry in his own grease for a day or two before they set him straight.


	13. Chapter 13

Uhura had her mind made up; she would not be diverted. She vanished into the closet and put on an outfit that made McCoy’s eyebrows climb all the way to his hairline. Two panels of gleaming black replicated leather laced together at the sides and clung to her like paint-- the front panel barely stretched wide enough to cover her areolae. Her hair was slicked back and flowed in a severe, straight torrent between her shoulders, and she wore five-inch stiletto-heeled boots that matched her dress…. If Leonard were an orthopedic surgeon, he’d have collapsed in hysterics just looking at her poor feet.

Spock accepted the outfit with apparent equanimity-- a choice Leonard noted did not sit well with Uhura, whose lips narrowed so much they practically disappeared as she strode past him. Of course, if Spock had complained, she probably would have been equally furious.

“The hell was I supposed to wear,” McCoy muttered unhappily, glancing down at his battered leather jacket and jeans. “A hood and a harness?”

“I have those if you want them,” Uhura offered, and Leonard backpedaled hastily. No way he was wearing bondage gear out through the streets.

“No… we’ll just bring them along in case we need them later? If that’s okay?”

He wound up slinging a suspiciously heavy backpack over one shoulder; he guessed skimpy sub attire wasn’t the only thing inside. 

Spock maintained all the equanimity of a particularly relaxed rock as they let themselves out.

It occurred to McCoy to wonder as he jogged down the stairs in Uhura’s wake: exactly how was Spock planning to spend his evening? And on a related note of more than passing interest, how precisely was _Jim_ planning to spend _his_ evening?

It was probably unworthy of Leonard to suspect any monkey business. He couldn’t quite picture Spock going behind Uhura’s back to bed Jim without arriving at an agreement and getting permission first… but suspicion springs eternal in the human heart. Leonard had trusted Joss 100%, and just look how that turned out. 

Okay, so Joss wasn’t a Vulcan, but even if Spock only planned to meet Jim to hash out some particularly dull points regarding the Enterprise’s plans for an enhanced optical sensor array…. Things had a way of getting out of hand sometimes when you didn’t mean for them to, and knowing that your girlfriend was out on the prowl for a piece of strange could do funny things to the inside of a man’s head. But then again, Spock wasn’t a man. He was a Vulcan.

Leonard sighed and shook his head. Anybody with half a brain could’ve predicted this was all going to turn into a disaster of galactic proportions, but he’d let himself get sucked into it anyway. 

Uhura led the way, her strides fairly snapping with anger. Her skirt was too tight to swish, but the ebb and flow of it over her curves did unspeakable things to McCoy’s brain anyway. It wasn’t a good idea to pick someone up when you were as pissed off as she obviously was, especially not someone you were going to have to work with down the line. McCoy prudently kept his mouth shut, though. Better she burn off the anger dancing or having sex than by disemboweling him. 

The club Nyota selected appeared to be vibrating on its foundations, the wild pulse of light, sound, and scent that emanated from its closed doors making McCoy wince before they ever went inside. The interior was much worse-- tightly crammed with people. Mild claustrophobia immediately began to constrict McCoy’s throat. 

He blinked unhappily at solid black interior surfaces arranged in lines torn from one of MC Escher’s less-pleasant nightmares. Garishly colored chairs and tables faded into a wall of bone-jarring sound driving a disorienting kaleidoscope of shifting, pulsating black light and strobes guaranteed to make susceptible brains collapse in the throes of photosensitive epilepsy. Maybe everyone in the dance area was experiencing a seizure. It seemed as likely an explanation as any. 

“Where the hell’s the floor?” McCoy yelled in Uhura’s ear, but he couldn’t hear himself think, much less make himself understood. She mouthed something unintelligible, her skin already glistening with sweat. Maybe Spock would’ve liked it in here after all; it was hotter than Vulcan’s Forge. With any luck, Scotty wouldn’t set foot near a place like this on a dare and Uhura’s plans would be thwarted.

She vanished onto the dance floor, a slim blade knifing through impossible spaces in the writhing crowd, so Leonard fought his way toward the bar and managed to order a beer by means of sign language. The bottle he eventually received was cold and brown and he pressed it to his throat with a sigh, then tipped back a swallow, immediately recognizing the piney hops so inevitably characteristic of the Yorktown’s hydroponics labs. Not too bad for a local IPA. 

There wasn’t a chance in hell of finding a table, so Leonard stationed himself against a wall, trusting in Uhura to find him if she wanted anything. He amused himself by trying to identify all the different species of being in the room and calculating the degree of progressive hearing loss he was experiencing each minute he lingered inside the club. 

“No, thank you,” he mouthed at a Caitian who appeared out of the crowd at random and gyrated against him, hopeful. He made a polite shooing motion. “I’m with somebody.”

“Dr. McCoy!” He blinked at the tall woman who appeared in front of him, her voice somehow piercing through the cacophony. He couldn’t place her for a second, then it all slid into place. 

“I’ll be damned.” She had on enough black and white faux-goth makeup to impersonate a Cheronian, but it was Christine Chapel. Her time aboard the Enterprise had been too brief; he’d had to tear Jim a new one for running off one of the best nurses he’d ever worked with. “How the hell are you?”

“Yes, the music’s excellent,” she responded, and McCoy rolled his eyes at the din. “Nyota sent me to find you. She says you’re being an old fuddy-duddy. Come out and dance with us.”

“You two hooked up?” That would probably be better than Uhura taking it out on Scotty. 

“No, the private rooms aren’t all booked up. But it’s sweet you’re interested. Maybe later.” She left a black lipstick stain on his cheek, then dragged him out into the gyrating crowd, ignoring his panicked protests. 

Nyota was there, and she poached the remains of his beer, turning it up and emptying the bottle, then dragging him into the dance-- if you could call it that. Mostly he undulated awkwardly, holding her against him while she did the same to Christine-- who wasn’t alone, as it turned out. She’d come with the captain’s Yeoman, Janice, who joined the miniature conga line too, humping away with the rest of them like it was nothing out of the ordinary. 

If it were just Nyota he would’ve got interested in going upstairs in a hurry, but the expanded guest list kept him on edge-- and when Nyota cried out in triumph and pointed across the floor to where Scotty stood in the entryway, blinking uncertainly at the melee before him, he groaned and let her dart away to pounce. 

He slipped away to get himself another helping of liquid courage, and just as he was served, Nyota arrived at the bar with Scotty. “Johnnie Walker,” she shouted to the barkeep, raising two fingers. 

Scotty looked at Leonard and waved feebly, a little shellshocked already; Nyota was attached to him in a manner reminiscent of a spandex bodysuit, her nails carding through the hair over his ear, and he seemed equally stunned and turned on, staring at her like a deer in headlights.

When she peeled away long enough to accept her drink, Scotty leaned forward, conspiratorial, and shouted right in his ear-- in this room, the equivalent of a whisper. “She break up with Spock again?”

McCoy considered that. “No.... It’s complicated.”

Nyota slithered over to McCoy, perching in his lap atop the stool and laying a sloppy, Scotch-flavored kiss on him. There was no way to keep it chaste, so he gave up. 

“I… see.” Blinking like an owl, Scotty tipped back his shot and waved the empty glass at the barkeep to request another-- a double. Leonard grimaced; he might want to slow down. Or maybe not. 

Nyota dragged them both out onto the dance floor this time, and Scotty joined the conga line, sandwiched firmly between Uhura and Christine; Janice leaned past Christine to loop her arms around his neck and give him a full-lipped kiss, which he returned with enthusiasm.

“You’re really uncomfortable,” Nyota commented, turning to Leonard momentarily to do the same. “You aren’t into this at all.”

There wasn’t any point denying it. Leonard nodded, sheepish. 

“I don’t need you to be my wingman anymore with Janice and Chris along. You’re off the hook.” She kissed him hotly and gave him a two-handed pat on the ass that turned into a squeeze. “For now.”

He surrendered the backpack of supplies and gave her another kiss-- opening her mouth with his tongue and pulling her hard against his body; after a moment she melted into it, yielding. When he released her, she twinkled up at him for a last moment, mischievous.

“Don’t make me regret letting you go,” she patted his back and turned to take charge of her little coterie-- Christine was kissing Scotty now, and he had his hands full of her... ample assets. 

McCoy beat a hasty retreat, glancing over his shoulder before he slipped out and spying Uhura and the girls leading Scotty up a mind-twisting spiral staircase toward the fuckrooms up top. Leonard facepalmed. At least Monty hadn’t had time to get too drunk to make an informed choice.

“Good night and good luck,” McCoy muttered in his direction, tossing his empty beer bottle into the recycler. 

The breeze cooled him off quickly as he wandered down the concourse. 

He spied a figure standing to one side of the thoroughfare-- once again in the plaza where the Franklin crashed, regarding the scars and duracrete patches on the surface. It seemed the place called to them, a nexus between "before" and "now." The tickle in Leonard's mind confirmed recognition. Spock glanced up and turned to face him.

He seemed uncharacteristically vulnerable, the breeze ruffling his dark hair and stirring the hem of his black wrap, making it flutter around his legs. Leonard knew he wasn’t supposed to feel sorry for Spock right now, but the sheer solitude of the man despite the teeming masses of people only meters away touched his heart. Leonard strolled toward him, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

“Spock,” he said quietly. The anger he’d felt a couple of hours ago had vanished like a soap bubble; Spock was risking as much as any of them. Maybe a hell of a lot more.

“Leonard.” Spock’s voice caressed the syllables as if they were rare and precious, eyes chocolate-dark and warm. He extended two fingers and Leonard touched them, heart rising into his throat. The simple, unguarded rush of Spock’s affection made tears sting in the corners of his eyes. 

He understood anew that Spock was not fully human-- a fact of which Leonard seemed to need frequent reminders-- and while Spock had the capacity for deep feeling, his emotions were often not provoked in the same ways and did not come in response to the same motivations as most humans’. He shared the plight of a neuro-atypical person: perpetually struggling to connect successfully to others, his natural responses seeming quite self-evident in his own mind, but so out of synch with the human norm it frustrated everyone involved.

“Will you return home with me?” Spock asked simply.

“Yeah,” Leonard sighed. “I don’t think Nyota needs us right now.”

Spock hummed something that might have been agreement and they set out, shoulders brushing together as they walked, avoiding the site-to-sites in favor of prolonging the stroll together. McCoy’s tension ebbed slowly, eased by exercise and undemanding companionship. He was glad he’d escaped from the punishing noise of the club and relieved not to be obliged to bear awkward witness to Uhura’s liaison with Chris, Janice, and Scotty. It was going to be the stuff legends are made of, and McCoy would just as soon not be one of the names on the gossip train in the morning.

They paused at an open-air cafe where Spock got falafel. McCoy chose shawarma for himself. They ate sitting on a bench next to a breeze-ruffled reflecting pool, comfortably quiet.

“Would you be amenable to engaging in intimate relations tonight?” Spock asked after they finished. False sunset dimmed the pond before them to soft golden-orange at its far edge; closer by, it appeared midnight blue. 

McCoy laughed, surprised but agreeable. “You’re quite the smooth-talking romantic.”

Spock merely tilted his head. 

“Let’s go home,” McCoy relented, and led the way toward his own quarters.


	14. Chapter 14

As they walked, Spock gradually edged closer until their fingers were brushing, and they wound up with their hands clasped behind the concealing folds of Spock’s dark wrap. 

“This time has been difficult for you,” Spock said as they stepped into the foyer. “I am glad of the opportunity to offer reassurance.”

McCoy let Spock take his jacket and hang it while he adjusted the temperature and tried not to feel like it was some kind of cheating to be here alone with Spock-- cheating on whom, exactly? On Nyota? On Jim? On himself and the snit he’d been in before going to the club? _For fucksake,_ he scolded himself. _What the hell am I thinking?_

He went to shower the club smell off himself and hesitated as he emerged, unsure what to wear. Finally he settled for a terrycloth bathrobe, belted loosely around his waist. It would be easy to remove, when it came to that.

He strolled into the living area, where Spock sat reading a padd with a glass of juice at his elbow. Leonard sat at the bar, then on the sofa, then got up and paced, unable to settle in spite of himself. Spock watched him gravely.

“You are tense.” Spock rose to set a gentle hand on his shoulder. “If you would prefer not to--”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’m just on edge.” Leonard sighed and gave Spock an apologetic shrug.

Spock tilted his head, considering. “Perhaps Nyota and I should have consulted you more closely regarding the acceptability of her spending the evening with Mr. Scott.”

“That’s not it.” He had to grin in spite of himself. “Nice thought, though, and I might have argued against the idea just on general principles-- which might’ve made things even worse. No, I’m fine with her balancing things out. By the way-- it’s not just him. She met up with the captain’s yeoman at the club-- and Christine Chapel, too. Remember her? They all went up together.”

Spock’s brows went up. “Indeed,” he said, his tone going dry. “Fascinating.” He did not, however, appear particularly dismayed; his eyes lingered on Leonard’s hands as he folded a quilted throw and then did it again, fussing to get the edges perfectly aligned. Spock stepped forward and took the bundle gently, laying it aside. “I have missed our closeness as you have,” he said quietly. “But I hope the time for reserve between us has now passed.”

Spock’s mind warmed him as they touched, gentle as spring sunshine, and Leonard felt his whole self soften in response, tension flowing out of him on a breath. This was what he needed-- this simple closeness, this quiet connection. 

Spock’s hand rose to his cheek, curving to cup ‘round it-- not reaching for the meld points; merely holding him, one graceful thumb wandering softly around the curve of his lower lip, then rising almost shyly to brush over his eyelid as Spock’s hand explored, stroking him with thorough care.

McCoy felt himself shiver, a thrill darting down his spine, and he answered the hand’s gentle query by tilting his face against Spock’s palm, inviting more.

Spock’s fingers ruffled into his hair, slow and careful; Spock’s eyes lingered on his face, half-lidded. “You are beautiful, _ashayam._ ” His fingers ran over the curve of McCoy’s ear. 

Leonard felt his face flush with embarrassment. He turned aside to cover it, mouthing tiny kisses against Spock’s palm, nuzzling his lips against Spock’s fingers and his thumb. Spock’s lips parted slightly, his expression softening. 

“Tonight is ours,” he led McCoy to the sofa and sat down, then arranged him like a child, curled over his lap just as they’d rested together when they had to remain in contact to settle the bond. He nestled his face against Leonard’s throat, inhaling deeply, curling Leonard’s hand inside his. 

It should have felt awkward, but after a moment Leonard surrendered and let himself go, letting his free hand wander lazily, trusting in Spock. He relaxed to settle against Spock’s shoulder, struck by the impossibility of the moment. If anyone had tried to get him to believe this could happen way back in the days before Altamid….

“Funny how things work out, isn’t it.”

“The universe operates on random principles that do not include humorous intent--”

McCoy huffed, not really annoyed. “Stop yanking my chain. I mean strange. Peculiar. Odd. Unlikely. Just like you,” he nipped lightly at Spock’s ear. 

“Given the location of your left hand, I choose to believe you intend that as a compliment,” Spock remained unruffled, covering Leonard’s hand with his own, preventing him from removing it. 

“Hmm. You may have a point.” Leonard licked Spock’s ear just to make his statement ambiguous. 

Spock hummed softly, neglecting the bait; Leonard let it go and they settled together gently, moving without haste. Spock’s fingertips trailed lightly over Leonard’s skin while Leonard nuzzled languid kisses against his throat. 

Something shy and vulnerable trembled between them; they sensed it and slowed, growing delicate and reverent with one another. Half-melded, they anticipated every caress, bodies rising to greet each touch as it was offered, moving and meeting in perfect accord: no distraction, no rush, no anxiety.

If there were only the two of them-- Leonard felt a flicker of shame at the selfish thought, and he scolded himself. Isolated in a monogamous relationship, they might not have learned to value these precious moments of peacefulness together. Hell, without Uhura to break the ice and ease them into things, they might never have managed to get together at all.

Spock’s brown eyes rose to meet his; he had never seen them so warm and deep. 

“Damn it, Spock.” Leonard felt so much he couldn’t understand why he didn’t simply fly apart. The words came out soft, and a faint hint of a smile curved Spock’s lips. “Damn fool pointy-eared Vulcan,” he murmured, curving his fingertips tenderly behind Spock’s ear. “Don’t know what the hell you want with a sarcastic old sonofabitch like me.”

“I require at least one partner whose intellect is inferior to my own,” Spock teased lightly. “For balance.”

“Bastard.” McCoy laughed, pressing his fingers over the predictable protest he could see forming on Spock’s lips. He pushed him over onto his back, then settled at his side, nestling in and inhaling the spicy scent of Spock’s favorite shampoo. “I won’t talk if you won’t,” he bargained.

“Agreed.” Spock’s fingers deftly unknotted the belt and his hand slid inside the terrycloth, coming to rest on Leonard’s ass. They sighed in unison, and Leonard slowly licked his way up the cord of Spock’s neck, settling in to nuzzle and nip at his ear. Comfort and pleasure saturated him-- Spock’s; his own… Leonard couldn’t tell the difference anymore. The fingers that slowly parted him and brushed across the vulnerable flesh between his legs might have been responding to his own command.

The meld deepened, and with it, their bond-- evident without need for words in the way their breath slid into synchrony, in the way every third beat of Spock’s swift heart came precisely in time with McCoy’s, in the way will and want mingled to become one. McCoy’s body relaxed for Spock’s finger without need for preparation; their mouths met and opened in unison, tongues sliding together. 

For the first time, Leonard could sense the pulsing locus that was Spock’s link with Uhura; he had felt her thoughts before through Spock, but never this clearly and never without Spock’s deliberate intervention. He touched the link, tentative.

_\--More nipples and navels than you could count to look at and touch; sweet warm hands all over. The vulnerable curve and dip of a pale back and buttocks before him, soft gasps echoing above the muted pulse of music, white legs spread out around his to accept the toy held steady in one hand. Sinking it in, loving the vulnerable, helpless sounds that came in response-- ___

__He pulled away in haste, blushing a little, and enveloped himself in Spock’s warm affection instead, basking in his acceptance. It seemed Spock could be as aware of Uhura as the two of them chose. McCoy figured the intensity of his awareness formed the foundation of his absolute trust._ _

__Spock could also access McCoy’s mind, if allowed, during physical contact-- but less deeply, and the awareness was not constant. It could become that kind of full, permanent connection... if Leonard wished. The love was there._ _

__Spock’s thought fluttered between them, fragile and full of hope._ _

__Spock hummed reassurance to him through their bond, though McCoy could taste the distinct shadow of his apprehension-- would Leonard, so deeply private, forever guarding his old wounds, inevitably wary of future pain-- would he draw away from this deeper bonding?_ _

__Leonard hesitated, unsure of them both, but the gentle sadness of Spock’s acceptance-- of his resignation-- sent a pang through his heart. Gazing into gentle brown eyes full of love and trust, Leonard took a deep breath. This was it: he could commit to share everything he had wanted, everything he had missed. He only had to agree._ _

__He kissed Spock in answer: kissed him and raised himself, settling over Spock’s cock. He hesitated, poised, and gazed into Spock’s eyes-- then relaxed and pressed down, taking all of Spock inside himself, their minds and bodies merging._ _

__They groaned and undulated in rhythm with heart and breath, a perfect balance of ebb and flow. Locked together, they swayed toward completion, groans and whimpers turning ragged, rhythm escalating-- they moved in time with Nyota, as well, the subtle pulse of her passion quickening with them, a soaring soprano note of urgency in the symphony they made together._ _

___“Leonard. Parted from me and never parted.”_ The words resonated in his mind, deeper than language-- they simply were, a part of the self-awareness that formed the consciousness between them. _“Never and always touching and touched.”__ _

__He could not articulate his answer-- “Spock” and “yes” and cresting pleasure combined to obliterate the last of the separation that would have rendered language necessary, leaving only ecstatic union and drifting, sated joy that slid slowly deeper and deeper into drowsiness and, finally, into sleep._ _


	15. Chapter 15

Waking brought awareness-- and with it gradual re-establishment of separate selves, accomplished by slow, peaceful degrees as Leonard swam toward full consciousness and began to notice physical details again: the soft, clean sheets, the warmth of simulated sunlight slanting over their bodies on the bed, Spock’s even breathing. Leonard could get lost in the pure jet black of his hair, so black the light took on an iridescent blue as it played among the strands.

He shifted, groaning a little as various aches and pains made their presence felt. His own, he eventually decided. He felt pleasantly wrung out, a little sore from their failure to supplement Spock’s natural moisture with stretching and artificial lubricant when they joined. But it was a good soreness, a stretch of body and mind into something more than the sum of its parts. 

His mind turned to Jim by slow degrees-- Jim would love this. Jim needed this. Jim fucking _deserved_ this.

Spock rumbled accord, breath warm in his ear. “Yes, _k’diwa._ ”

Leonard remembered his sense of Nyota through the bond-- so clear and present, incredibly intimate; he could have entered her mind as fully as Spock’s, if he chose. Neither he nor Nyota possessed the mental discipline or training of Vulcans; they would have to learn how to respect one another’s privacy. To bring in someone Nyota didn’t want to trust with her innermost secrets? Leonard grimaced. “I think I’m finally starting to understand the magnitude of the problem.”

“Indeed.” Spock nuzzled into the crook of his neck and shoulder. His sharp white teeth closed gently there-- worrying lightly at a love bite Leonard had all but forgotten, the delicious soft ache flushing heat through him on a lazy tide of endorphins. 

“I’ve got a shift this morning,” he said, stroking a regretful palm along Spock’s flank. 

“Nyota will be home before you are ready to depart,” Spock murmured. “She has had a most satisfactory evening. She and I will require time to reconnect.”

Leonard groaned and let his reluctance to be involved in possible hostilities goad him out from under Spock and toward the shower. He dressed in record time and hurried into the kitchen, where Spock had prepared oatmeal with fruit. Sure enough, Nyota arrived while he was still shoveling it down, wrapped in a coat that was definitely not her own. He didn’t even want to begin classifying the cloud of smells surrounding her. He settled for breathing as little as possible and labeling it “club smoke.” 

“Morning, Nyota.” He didn’t quite dare to venture anything more specific.

She just gave him a sloe-eyed, sleepy smile and trailed a lazy hand over his shoulder, bypassing Spock entirely as she headed toward the bathroom.

“Good luck, Spock,” Leonard mumbled as he grabbed up his jacket and headed for the door. Tonight was his night with Jim; with any luck Spock and Uhura would have argued themselves out by the time he returned. He decided to bury himself in his work and forget all about the potential complications until he had to deal with them.

As luck would have it, his plans went for nothing. First patient of the day: one Montgomery Scott, looking battered and sheepish, perched on the edge of a biobed and sporting more visible love bites around the open collar of his shirt than ought to be possible for a mortal man to sustain in less than 12 hours. 

“Good God, Scotty.” Leonard remembered himself an instant too late for professionalism and buttoned his lip. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Scotty couldn’t repress a grin, though it looked painful; one of his lips had split and swollen. “I suppose I should make out my last will and testament before Mr. Spock breaks my damn fool neck for me.” The words were light but his eyes couldn’t lie; he was scared half-shitless, weary blue eyes fixed on McCoy with a combination of barely-leashed terror and anxious hope. 

“He’s not gonna come after you.” Leonard picked out a couple of hypos; after a moment’s deliberation he added a third. He’d checked Scott and Rand recently, but not Chapel. She’d been off the ship for nearly four years now. She was a nurse, so she probably wasn’t carrying anything nasty, but a broad-spectrum anti-STD and contraceptive wouldn’t go amiss for any of them. “Nyota’s a big girl. She does whatever-- and whoever-- she pleases.” _Me included_ , he didn’t say-- Scott was perfectly capable of drawing his own conclusions.

“That’s a relief.” Scotty watched without flinching as McCoy shot him up with various vitamins and electrolytes. Jim oughtta be here just to see how a real man took his medicine (and to be properly envious of Scotty getting fucked to a pulp by three of the most beautiful ladies the Enterprise crew ever boasted-- McCoy would give six months’ pay just to see Jim’s face when he heard about it).

“STD booster with six-months’ contraceptive prophylactic,” he warned, and Scott gave a short nod, allowing him to administer the dose. “Get out of those clothes and put on an exam gown.”

Scott obeyed while Leonard discreetly turned his back and disposed of the empty injection vials. When he turned back around, he led with his medi-scanner-- he knew about both Uhura’s preferred playtime activities _and_ the contents of that backpack. She’d been careful and Scott didn’t have any conspicuous tears, but he’d experienced a few micro-tears and numerous abrasions and strains that couldn’t be too comfortable. 

“Belly-down.” The antibiotic he’d injected would prevent infection. A few passes of the protoplaser and Scotty would be right as rain-- the rest was just minor bruising.

Scott obeyed, but something about the pose drew his cork and once he wasn’t looking at Leonard’s face, he started to babble as if the exam room were some kind of priest’s confessional.

“You should have stayed, Len; there was more than enough for the two of us. They took me up there and told me to strip, then laid themselves out side by side--” he blurted the words in awkward fits and starts of rapturous embarrassment, but Leonard didn’t need them; Uhura was making her own report to Spock and Spock had opened his their link in case Leonard wanted to share: the images struck him from both sides-- the drone of Scott’s brogue in his ears matching the lilt of Uhura’s memories filtered through Spock.

McCoy shook his head in disbelief-- the three women naked, presenting themselves in a row for Scott to take-- which he did, stroking a trembling hand along the insides of smooth round thighs, then bending to kiss them open, make them wet and ready with his tongue-- then testing each one with his cock. They lazily turned their heads to kiss one another while he buried himself in welcome flesh, one after the other-- Chapel as lean and lanky as a gazelle, sweet and slick as honey; Rand more compact and plush, her well-rounded flesh luscious and wicked-tight, Uhura lithe and fiery and fitting “--like a glove, good god, fit to drag a man right in and drown him!” and Scotty completely helpless to choose between them.

“Finally I addressed myself to Chrristine and reached to either side to finger the other two--” Scott spread his hands as if to illustrate, and McCoy struggled to remain professional, moving swiftly to patch up the superficial bruising. It was growing more and more difficult to concentrate on his job. He watched the intrusive memory helplessly as Scott tried in vain to coordinate himself well enough to satisfy all three at once until Uhura grew impatient and finally rolled upright to take charge, predatory in her exasperation, and put him on his back so all three of them could ride.

“Never done anything like it,” Scott babbled, and McCoy could believe it, the vision from Uhura’s eyes clear in his mind. She had gazed down possessively at her lovers-- Chapel mounted astride Scott’s long, slender cock, her plump breasts soft in Uhura’s hands, Rand rocking herself over his mouth to ride his tongue, the shaft of the toy forcing itself inside him bit by bit, as Nyota worked her way carefully into his resistant, virgin ass--

McCoy bit the inside of his cheek; only the fact that it was Scotty kept him from embarrassing himself beyond reason by reaching for his erection to take care of it then and there. He settled for putting his belly against the biobed just to keep things discreet.

“A man needed three cocks and the recovery time of a fifteen-year-old to deal with ‘em all right and proper,” Scotty confessed, “And me in my forties, wi’ just the one tadger to my name! But it didn’t faze ’em at all; when I was done for, Nyota took another toy, a bigger one, and put it to Janice while Janice helped herself to a bit o’ Chris’s cream pie--”

McCoy shook his head, trying not to be aware of the way Christine and Janice had moaned-- intensely aroused and a little repelled-- mostly overwhelmed. He could see everything Scott described, plus a dozen more scenes-- Uhura’s entire memory imprinted on his own consciousness in as much detail as he might care to indulge. “Enough!” He growled at them all, and for a mercy both Spock and Scott listened. 

“Suffice it to say they rode me hard the night long, ’n put me up wet. I’m grateful for your help. I feel a good bit better now.” Scott wriggled, testing his ability to move without pain and finding the results satisfactory. “Apart from havin’ a sprained tongue, or near enough to it!”

“It might be better if you’d actually sprained that over-active tongue of yours. I wouldn’t go around attaching names to this story if I were you,” Leonard warned him. 

“Well no, of course not, but you were there,” Scotty protested. “You saw ’em drag me off upstairs like three cats with a mouse, Len.”

McCoy relented; he probably _was_ the nearest thing Scott had to a safe confidante, and he could understand the need to spill your guts about such an unbelievable sexual encounter. “Just change the details enough to protect the guilty.”

“Aye.” Scott hopped off the bed, spry, and dressed himself. “And I won’t be telling Keenser, either, so settle yourself on that point; the man won’t shut up when he’s got hold of a bit of juicy gossip.”

“Good plan.” McCoy managed to fumble his protoplaser back into its drawer without moving away from the concealment of the biobed. “You should be fine, but take it easy with the anal stuff. You’re not used to it yet. Tell Nyota to back it down with the diameter at first, or I’ll spank her myself,” McCoy threatened, and Scott broke into a huge grin, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“She’ll be havin’ me on the regular, then?”

“Don’t count your chickens.” McCoy blustered, unconvincing-- and made a mental note to kill Spock very slowly for sharing the gory details. 

As Scott vanished, still tucking his shirt-tail into his trousers, McCoy smacked the intercom button. “Give me twenty minutes before you send in the next--”

“He’s already here,” a voice said, not sounding particularly apologetic, and Bones snapped his head up to find Jim already leaning in the doorway, surveying him with a distinctly amused and disrespectful grin as McCoy signed off.


	16. Chapter 16

“That’s not the kind of condition I expect to find you in after you’ve been working on Scotty,” Jim drawled, folding his arms and directing his stare just below Leonard’s belt. “Is there something else you aren’t telling me?”

“Your first officer is an evil, filthy-minded sonofabitch and you’d better say goodbye to him before I get home tonight, because I’m going to kill him if Uhura hasn’t beaten me to it,” McCoy grumbled. “Usually I have to beat you over the head to get you to come for a medical checkup.” His bioscanner appeared in his hand as if conjured. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, hold on, not so fast,” Jim warded him off with outstretched palms, laughing. “I’m fine. I just wanted to let you know we’ve got an assignment coming up. ’Fleet wants me to take a team back to Altamid. We’re to retrieve some classified tech from the shipwreck and neutralize the sensitive stuff stored in the Enterprise’s computer core. We’ll need a medic just in case. I thought you might sign on.” He stepped inside, keying the door to close behind him. “I went to tell Spock first, but he wasn’t answering the bell.”

Leonard rolled his eyes. “Thank God you had sense enough not to override his lock and break in.”

“Yeah, I figured he and Uhura were... busy.” Jim grinned again, stepping way inside Leonard’s personal bubble. He tucked his fingertips behind McCoy’s waistband. “Looks like I was right. Telepathic second-hand?”

McCoy slumped in spite of himself, accepting the inevitable. “And how.”

“Let me give you some help with that,” Jim breathed, popping the button and sliding down the zipper, his fingers wrapping around Leonard’s cock so fast he forgot to complain.

Jim’s hot mouth covered him, gliding all the way down, and Leonard stifled a shout against his arm, sagging against the biobed and groping for support with a frantic hand that nearly sent his hypo kit flying. “Jesus, Jim!”

Jim just gazed up at him for a long moment with wide blue eyes-- and Leonard didn’t need telepathy to see the love in them, or to feel it threaten to overflow his own heart, fierce and sweet. Jim bent all his focus on his task, lashing Leonard with an expert tongue-- none of the niceties of foreplay; this was down and dirty, fast and hard and so good he wished he could just lose it and start howling, to hell with all the people in his waiting room.

Leonard clasped Jim’s golden head between his hands and thrust helplessly into his throat, cursing under his breath. Spock was probably playing voyeur to all this, the smug bastard, so it was a damn good thing Jim probably wouldn’t be bothered by that. 

Jim swallowed around him, hand cradling his balls, and rose-- then fell again fiercely, dragging a moan from Leonard’s throat. The pace was merciless, brutal-- it drew involuntary tears from Jim’s eyes, and Leonard wiped at them helplessly, feeling guilty, but Jim’s hands slid back and clutched his ass, forcing the rhythm out of him, not letting him slacken the pace one bit. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice breaking. “Fuck, Jim, _fuck--”_

Jim rumbled satisfaction deep in his chest, flicking his tongue lightly at the sweet spot just below the head, and McCoy gave it up with a choked growl, spurting on Jim’s tongue-- then over his face as Jim drew back, mouth open and eyes closed, his tongue cushioned over his lower lip, basking under the stripes of come like a fucking porn star. 

Maybe the little shit _knew_ Spock was watching, damn it, but that didn’t stop Leonard from milking the last drops out and smearing them over Jim’s lips, then watching avidly as he licked it away, tongue snaking out to get every bit he could. He wiped up the rest with trembling fingers and let Jim lick them clean-- Spock would just fucking _lose it_ if he saw that, lose it and… and apparently he’d flip Nyota onto her back and grab her waist in both hands and pick her up and fuck her so hard she squealed and dug in her nails as the two of them slammed together and came with a flare like a nuclear explosion--

McCoy jerked his eyelids open and struggled to breathe; his head spun dizzily as he tried to remember his own name.

“Better now?” Jim’s voice sounded rough and unsatisfied. 

“God,” Leonard breathed. He was _wrecked_ and he sounded it; sweat trickled down between his shoulderblades and he needed a shower, but Jim was tucking him away and neatening him up, then hoisting himself to his feet. “My God, Jim.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Jim preened, grinning that shit-eating grin of his, the one that made people’s brains evaporate right out through their pores. “You’ve got an appointment waiting,” he purred. “So we’ll have to take a rain-check on stretching out over that biobed and letting you plow me till I whimper for mercy.” He stroked Leonard’s cheek, eyes hot. 

“Tonight,” Leonard managed to croak, wondering if his knees would hold him up if he stepped away from the support of the bed. Probably not. 

“Tonight,” Jim agreed easily, eyes dancing. “Thank you, doctor. That will be all.” He sashayed out, the swing of his ass hypnotic, riveting Leonard’s eyes to it until the door slid shut and made it vanish.

McCoy just shook his head and took a deep breath, trying to scrape together enough brains to manage his next patient.


	17. Chapter 17

Altamid seemed considerably less threatening when you beamed down from a well-crewed salvage runabout than it did when you emergency-ejected off a ship being savaged by a madman who wanted to destroy the Federation. McCoy tilted his head back and squinted up into the tree canopy a some sixty meters overhead. Unlike the harsh, unforgiving mountains where he and Spock had crash-landed, this part of the planet was actually beautiful. 

Light dazzled through shifting leaves and illuminated the humid mist of the air in glowing shafts that reached all the way to the ground. It made him feel oddly as though he were underwater, an impression enhanced by wisps of plant matter that resembled jellyfish floating through the air-- and again by a delicate crimson thing like a barnacle that zipped back into its shell as he stepped too close to its boulder host. 

Leonard was just glad to be out of the debris cloud; he hated threading the needle through that moving hell of murderous asteroids. He was also deeply relieved to be off the ship; having an audience of two dozen techs watching him and Jim and Spock edge cautiously around each other hadn’t done anything to improve his mood.

“An old-growth boreal forest,” Spock commented at his shoulder. “Fascinating.”

“Yeah, the two of us never made it below the tree-line,” Leonard scanned the bole of an enormous tree, then laid his hand against its bark. It reminded him of redwoods back on earth: so huge and old it made him feel terribly young-- and it reminded him he was an intruder here.

Spock joined him, palm settling next to his. “It is aware, but not in the same way we are,” he murmured, sounding as reverent as Leonard felt. “It will not notice us; our presence here will be too brief.” He didn’t touch Leonard, though he sounded like he might have liked to share whatever he sensed from the tree; neither Spock nor Kirk were quite daring enough yet to touch Leonard with the other watching.

Leonard nodded at him, trotting a few meters away to join Jim, who stood by an abandoned Kelvin pod stuck nose-down in the forest loam. “This one was Kalara’s,” Jim’s expression was set taut, grim, as pried open the hatch and looked inside. Fungal growth was already starting to creep over the replicated leather padding of the seat, and delicate tendrils of moss laced the transparent aluminum viewport. 

Kirk stepped aside as Spock plied his tricorder. “There seem to be no relics of Kalara’s occupation,” he reported after a moment. “This craft can safely be retrieved.” They were being extra-careful not to touch one another, either, tension crackling between them, rife with electric potential.

“There’s probably a goldmine of alien tech on this planet-- not just from whatever civilization made Krall’s bees, but from everybody they shipwrecked here.” Leonard’s tricorder confirmed Spock’s readings. “Stuff a lot more valuable than a handful of scuttled pods.”

“We’ll have to watch out for the transplanted crews, though. Jaylah warned they’d be very hostile.” Still scowling, Kirk nodded to the ops techs who had accompanied them; the two men began to unpack their toolkits to disassemble the pod for beam-out.

“Starfleet Command will be sending salvage teams to investigate crash sites planetwide,” Kirk closed the hatch again, but didn’t latch it. “Valuable isn’t our concern, Bones. We’re just here to get anything classified or dangerous that came from the Enterprise.”

“We might have beamed down closer to the crash site.” Leonard eyed him sidelong. He didn’t like how Jim was bottling things up now that they’d come planetside; that kind of suffering in silence had nearly put him in the admiralty before anybody else was aware.

“I wanted to check this pod first.” Jim zipped his survival suit to the chin; the damp air was chilly in the shadow of the trees. “Kalara might have left something hazardous inside.”

Leonard quirked a brow at him, but Jim just gave him a warning stare, so Bones kept his mouth shut, though he didn’t buy the excuse for a second. This was a pilgrimage, damn it, a ritual complete with a penitent journey to a sacred site: the Enterprise’s final resting place on hallowed ground. 

Leonard glanced toward Spock, who reacted by failing to react, making him roll his eyes. “Then let’s start hiking? I assume you know the way.”

Jim consulted his tricorder and led them westward. “It’ll take us a day or so to get there,” he said. “Come on.”

An hour or two later Leonard was sweaty and thoroughly tired of scrambling over boulders. His medical white survival suit was covered with some kind of tiny, clingy seed pods like flat cockleburrs. Jim at least had the decency to work up his own sweat, but Spock still looked pristine, so McCoy glared at him with considerable resentment as Spock effortlessly scaled a jagged boulder and then politely extended a fallen branch and hoisted Jim up after him.

“We should just let the damn hobgoblin finish the trip and bring the Enterprise back to us, slung over one shoulder in a shopping bag,” he muttered after Spock hauled him up, too. He surveyed the forest, puffing, and fished in his medikit for a protein concentrate. 

“An impossibility even for a Vulcan, doctor.” Spock gave him an austere look.

“I’ll say. The last time we were here, I was hauling _you_ around like a worn-out, cranky toddler. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“Indeed. It was such an unusual event I am sure that even your limited human memory would retain the information due to its novelty--” Spock began, only to fall silent as a sudden harsh bark of laughter burst out of Jim.

“You two have been making love to each other under my nose for years; just listen to you.”

Spock flushed an alarming shade of jade green, which made McCoy forget his own blushes. “He’s got you there, Spock. You’re an incorrigible flirt. Always have been.”

“I do not flirt.” Spock straightened his spine, emanating wounded dignity. “I merely state logical options.”

“I stand corrected, Mr. Spock.” Jim grinned at him, but something insecure and sad flickered behind the sparkle. “Bones does all the flirting. You merely fail to discourage him.”

“Now wait just a damn minute, Jim--” Leonard sputtered, but he was glad to play the scapegoat if it’d take that wounded, aching look out of Jim’s eyes. “If you want me to climb into _your_ sleeping bag tonight instead of _his,_ you’re gonna have to toe the line. Curry some favor. Make me a better offer.” That made Spock raise both brows, but McCoy could tell he wasn’t really offended. 

“It’s my bag or the brig,” Jim grinned, but the shade lingered behind his smile. 

“Pulling rank. It figures.” He used his worry for energy and masked it in exasperation, scrambling up a new boulder without reaching for Spock’s outstretched hand. “Next thing you know you’ll be ordering me to my knees on the bridge of the new Enterprise to christen it or some such nonsense!”

Jim’s laugh sounded a little more real this time. “Now there’s an idea.”

“Leonard has flirted with you for many years as well,” Spock observed placidly, tilting his head toward Jim. “And he shows no signs of stopping.”

“That’s it,” McCoy jabbed a finger at Spock, feigning outrage. “I’m with him for the night!” Jim needed him more right now, and Spock knew it. 

“Nyota and I have no objection to an equitable division of your time.” Spock scrambled up the next boulder, maintaining perfect calm. 

Well, the elephant in the room was out in the open now-- and it might as well be painted bright fuschia. That was the other thing they were doing here, Leonard knew: testing the dynamic between them now that so many things had changed. And maybe… maybe doing more than testing. Spock and Nyota hadn’t had a lot of time to discuss terms since news of the assignment came immediately after she spent the night with Scotty-- _and_ Janice, _and_ Christine, for fucksake-- but Leonard was willing to bet that sooner or later, sauce for the goose would be sauce for the gander. 

He could run screaming into the forest, he supposed, and leave them all to it-- if he didn’t break a leg or impale himself on a broken branch before he got over the horizon. Even if he made it, they’d just locate his bio signs and beam him right back up again. 

“Bones,” Jim said softly, one hand falling on his shoulder. “You don’t have to--”

“It’s not a case of ‘have to.’ It’s more like ‘Holy shit, how the hell am I supposed to choose which one of those gorgeous fuckers I get to sleep with tonight?’” He tried to keep his voice down so Spock wouldn’t get an unnecessary ego boost. Plus, no way in hell was _he_ gonna be the one to suggest that if they all bedded down together, he wouldn’t have to choose. 

Spock heard Leonard anyway and raised a brow at him, striving for a look of speculative innocence and stroking McCoy’s mind lightly to remind him of his presence and awareness. McCoy just huffed at him. 

Spock remained maddeningly serene-- a bad sign; Leonard was starting to understand that when it came to emotional matters, his serenity was a front covering anything from mild to severe uncertainty. 

Jim set a fairly hard pace through the long planetary afternoon. By the time dusk fell Leonard was sticky and itchy and thoroughly exhausted; he wasn’t in terrible shape, but he definitely wasn’t used to scrambling through endless fields of boulders like some kind of mountain goat. Tomorrow was going to be even worse as they ascended into the mountain range where the Enterprise went down. He hoped that when the climbing got rough, Jim would agree to a transport.

Spock decreed it was time to camp when the sun fell low, and he selected a small site on the thinning edge of the forest. They made a fire-ring inside a soft but dry bowl of earth well sheltered by sun-heated granite boulders, their surfaces as smooth and slick as if they’d once been water-worn. Leonard let Jim fuss with putting up a tent while he unfolded his sleeping bag. Then he sat down on it and watched Spock gather wood while he sorted through their supplies and set out a meal. Finally he nestled himself against a fallen log and ripped into the packet of paste that was his dinner-- making sure to hydrate well even though it’d be sure to send him looking for a convenient tree to water in the middle of the night. 

“We’ll both develop delayed onset muscle soreness in another 12 hours or so. Shouldn’t be a problem if we power through it,” he told Jim, then stifled a yawn behind his palm. “There any predators in this place?”

“There are no large predators on Altamid-- except for the people Krall shot down and left alive so he’d have a larder.” Jim started zipping his sleeping bag up to Leonard’s, which made him roll his eyes even as it made a secret warm glow of affection light up in his belly. 

“My scanners show no large biological lifeforms nearby. However, it is likely the robotic drones that constructed the bee ships perform routine patrols,” Spock said, prim. “Also, there are rogue inhabitants from downed spacecraft, such as those Mr. Scott encountered with Jaylah. As I need less sleep, I will keep watch.”

“You can take the first shift,” Kirk corrected firmly, taking off his jacket. He joined McCoy and leaned against the downed log to have his dinner. He grimaced. “Vegetable stew flavored, the packet says.”

“Couldn’t prove it by me,” Leonard tossed his empty into the fire and watched it flame. “Should’ve beamed down next to the ship and brought better rations.”

Jim didn’t answer, watching Spock dispose of his own empty packet and step away from the circle of firelight. 

“He won’t go far,” Leonard knew it without having to consult the link. Spock would want to hear-- to _see_ whatever he and Jim did together. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that, but all he could do was roll with the punches.

Jim chuckled. “Will he go far enough?”

Leonard rolled his eyes. “Like you’ve ever been modest.”

“I wouldn’t want to… upset him.” Jim whispered the last part, glancing around like some kind of nervous virgin, for fucksake. 

Leonard considered telling Jim Spock had listened in on the medbay blowjob, with _fascinating_ results, but explaining it was just too embarrassing. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a little flask of bourbon, taking a sip and offering it to Jim in turn. “Seems unlikely,” he settled for. 

“Thanks.” Jim took a swig and handed it back. “How much does he know?”

Leonard considered that. “Pretty much everything.” Jim wasn’t going to let the topic lie, so he gave up and tapped his temple. Jim’s eyes widened. 

“Everything as in… mind-meld everything?”

“Yep.” McCoy was way too sober for this conversation, so he took another swallow. “He shields the three of us from one another whenever one of us makes our wishes known, and he says Uhura and I can learn some basic controls to prevent over-sharing. She’s pretty good at it, but I haven’t had a chance to start the lessons yet.”

“Wow.” Jim chewed on that, nestling in and tilting his head back to look up at the sky-- not many visible stars thanks to the asteroid field and the nebula, but there was a lot of meteor activity. Since the tree canopy was thin here, occasional brilliant streaks stood out in stark relief against the heavens, sometimes bright enough to lighten the forest floor. “So he was… listening in? When we…?”

“Uh huh. Didn’t seem to distress him much.” Leonard toed out of his boots, grimacing at his own understatement, then rolled his jacket into a crude pillow and propped his feet up on the stone ring around the flames. Damn it, couldn’t Jim tell how Spock felt about him? Was he too chickenshit to try his luck?

Not that he was one to talk. If Nyota hadn’t come to talk to him, he wouldn’t ever have made a move, either.

“How does he think about me? Are there any,” Kirk dropped his voice to a whisper. “Feelings?”

Bones sighed at the inevitable question. Waiting for his answer, Jim fell silent and carved himself a toothpick with a utility knife while Bones stretched his arms and legs wearily. Mist began to rise out of the ground and gather in slow drifts through the thinning forest, sealing them inside a slowly shrinking space defined by glowing firelight trapped in droplets of condensation. 

“I can’t speak for Spock on that. You should talk to him if you want to know.” Leonard cocked a sharp eye toward Jim’s reluctant grimace. “You know, like grown up adults are supposed to do. Not hiding and skulking around, afraid to tell even your best friend you were about to bail your way right up the command ladder.”

“You weren’t supposed to find out about that.” Somehow that subject seemed safer than Spock’s feelings, apparently.

“Jim, they asked me to clear you as medically fit for the promotion,” Bones said with exaggerated patience. “It was pretty hard not to guess something was up.” The fog closed in, thickening. Jim had been so ready to leave them-- to leave _him_. It wasn’t exactly something that did wonders for Leonard’s self-esteem.

“Damn it.” Jim reached for the flask again and helped himself. “I would’ve told you before I accepted, Bones.”

“And I would’ve found a way to certify you unfit for promotion. Because trust me, Jim, your ass would be wasted on a desk.” 

“How would you know? You’ve never had me on a desk.” Jim twinkled at him, just like his old self for a second, and Leonard burst out laughing, the sound muffled eerily by the thickening fog, and the tension eased.

“Remind me to remedy that omission at the earliest possible opportunity.” Fuck, he sounded way too much like Spock.

“I’ll call Sulu and have him beam one down if you like.”

“Ask for some decent food, while you’re at it.” Leonard pounced, pushing him over, and Jim went easily, grinning up at him like this was what he’d wanted all along. It probably was. Leonard considered Jim’s laughing face, then settled in to bite the cord of his throat, still holding his wrists immobile.

Jim didn’t struggle, purring and lifting his hips. Leonard chuckled. “After a day of scrambling around over all these rocks? I’m an old man, Jim.” Combined with the heavy exertion, the carbs from his dinner were hitting him hard.

“Gone and started something you can’t finish?” 

“Mmmm. Seems like it.” Jim was warm and a lot softer than the ground. “You make a good pillow,” Leonard told Jim, then kissed him to shut him up. The kiss stretched and melted sweet between them. Jim’s arms slid around him and Jim wriggled until he was on top again, dragging his sleeping bag over them both and zipping it up, wrapping them in a cozy cocoon. 

Spock was watching, Leonard knew; he drew Jim’s head down to nestle against his neck on the side farthest from Spock, feeling strangely protective-- even a bit reluctant. 

“You’re brooding.” Jim’s intuition was razor-sharp. “Spock’s watching us, isn’t he?” He murmured the words softly into Leonard’s ear.

“Mmmhmm.” Leonard grimaced, apologetic. He was damned tired, too, ready to fade right out and sleep like a log. 

“Well if it doesn’t upset him, he can look as much as he wants,” Jim said, very soft, and rolled his hips down against Leonard, nuzzling close enough to bite his lower lip. 

“Exhibitionist,” Leonard complained when he could talk again. He ran his hands over Jim’s broad back and his trim ass, sighing with contentment. _“Talk to Spock.”_

“I’m not sure it’s Spock I need to talk to,” Jim drew back, propping up on one elbow and giving him a long, calculating stare. “Will we lose what we have if I push things with Spock?” 

“I don’t think so. Not if you don’t want to.” Leonard promised. “Spock’s okay with us being intimate, Jim. He practically threw me at you, damn it. Couldn’t stand to see you feeling lonely.” 

“And Nyota let him? I can’t even start to figure the three of you out,” Jim muttered. 

“Neither can I.” Leonard tried to stifle his yawn, but his jaw popped with the effort. Jim laughed softly, taking pity on him.

“Sleep, old man,” Jim teased softly. “I’ll take the second watch.”

Grumbling a little for the sake of his dignity, Leonard went to sleep with Jim still stretched half-over him, snug and warm, Spock’s calm presence in his mind a welcome reassurance of safety.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year... may 2018 suck less than this story

The spirit was willing, even though the flesh was weak. The sensation of Jim lying in his arms followed Leonard into dreams. 

He got up to take a piss, wandering just far enough from the campsite for the sake of decent hygiene. When he got back Jim was waiting for him, beautifully naked and gilded by firelight, his belly pressed against the smooth surface of the boulder that sheltered their camp. Leonard froze for only a moment, then stepped forward, running his hands over that smooth, taut-muscled body. Jim purred for him, low and sultry, his thighs parting. 

The stone radiated warmth from the day’s sunlight; Leonard pinned Jim’s wrists to it in both hands and mouthed along his throat and his spine, then gently lifted Jim up onto his tiptoes and pushed into his tight, hot flesh.

Jim keened, head tipping back, and panted for breath as Leonard withdrew and pushed in again-- too easy; maddeningly so. He thrust harder, trying to build more friction, and Jim gasped, trying to tip his head back for a kiss. Leonard gave it, thrusting eagerly-- but no more friction was to be had.

Then Spock was there, naked, his hand hot on the nape of Leonard’s neck-- and suddenly Leonard was naked too, naked and buried in Jim as Spock gently ran his hands over both of them, then eased Leonard away. Leonard mewled a protest, but Spock pulled Jim away from the rock, indicating that Leonard should go to his knees. He did, putting himself between Jim and the stone; Spock fed him Jim’s cock, then easily lifted Jim and spread him.

Jim braced his palms against the rock and Spock’s strong hands held his hips aloft; Bones moaned hungrily as Spock pushed in and fucked Jim right into Leonard’s mouth.

Leonard heard Jim’s helpless whimpers and the harsh rasp of Spock’s breath, maddening-- his arousal almost too much to bear, but his own cock was sadly neglected, and he shifted his hips, struggling to get some pressure against it, needing, aching to be touched. The rock baked heat against his shoulders and Jim was hot and slippery with sweat under his hands; Spock moved hard, bucking Jim all the way into him, and Jim came with a cry, coming down Leonard’s throat, his cock pulsing, stretching Leonard’s lips wide, but he still couldn’t-- 

_”Ashayam.”_ Spock’s mental voice was silvery-dark with lust and laughter. _”You are dreaming.”_

Leonard’s eyes fluttered open and he realized Spock was gazing down at him; the sun had risen and he was sweltering hot inside the zipped sleeping bags. Spock lay heavy atop him, and Leonard blinked himself awake as Spock’s hand slid down his belly and closed around his cock. Spock pressed him over onto his back and kissed him, stroking his tongue deep, and McCoy helplessly let his thighs fall open, pushing his cock up into Spock’s tight fist.

If going to sleep in Jim’s arms was blissful, waking to Spock’s hand on him the morning after was sublime. Leonard moaned, his mind still hazy with sleep, and kissed back, clumsy but ardent. 

Spock’s hand moved, tight and slick with McCoy’s own sweat; it was too hard and too fast and it dragged too much and it was _incredible._ Leonard arched, gasping a soft, desperate cry into Spock’s mouth, and spent inside his hand. 

Spock lifted his fingers for Leonard to clean, and he opened his mouth for them obediently, watching Spock’s eyes grow hot and heavy-lidded. Spock turned his hand, presenting every surface for Leonard to suckle and lick. He kept at it until all he could taste was the coppery tang of Spock’s skin, but left his mouth open when Spock withdrew his hand, hoping to suggest he was willing to offer more.

“Not now. Perhaps later,” Spock said, throaty and deep. He unzipped the bag and rose, perfectly composed-- still in his damned survival suit and jacket, for the love of fuck. 

The coffee pot was on the fire, steaming; Jim was nowhere to be seen. Spock calmly took out three mugs and prepared each of them a drink.

“Good morning, Jim,” Spock said politely, still sounding smoky-hot and sultry. “I have made coffee.” Leonard jerked himself up from his pillow to see Kirk scuffle sheepishly into view. He’d been spying; that was plenty obvious. 

Spock departed, presumably to relieve himself, and Leonard felt himself blushing beet red under the force of Jim’s envious stare. 

“I knew you guys were-- but I never actually-- I couldn’t,” Jim swallowed. “Picture him, you know. Kissing you like that. Putting his fucking fingers in your mouth. You fucking _sucking your come off them for him!”_

Leonard slumped back against his jacket-pillow and groaned mortification to the heavens, which gazed back without sympathy, bright glassy blue. At least all this was distracting Jim from brooding over the Enterprise. That wasn’t enough to compensate for Leonard’s humiliation, but it was at least something.

“I thought he was gonna just go ahead and fuck you,” Jim muttered, then shook his head. “I can’t believe he’d do something like that knowing I was close by.”

“Didn’t I tell you to talk to him?” McCoy snapped. Embarrassment and nerves made his tone a little sharper than he’d intended. He wrestled his way out of the sleeping bag and into the cool morning air. 

Jim shifted-- and the outline of his erection spoiled the line of his uniform trousers, a heavy bulge that looked both delicious and painful.

“Dammit,” Leonard shot an exasperated look in the general direction where Spock had disappeared. “Damned hobgoblin thinks he’s some sort of Machiavelli or something; fuck my _life.”_ He stumbled gracelessly around the fire ring and thumped down to his knees in front of Jim-- fuck any pretense at propriety, anyway; it was already shot straight to hell.

Jim’s token protest went unheard-- and anyway, Jim was helping him fumble open the belt buckle and jerk open the heavy serge fabric and drag his cock out into the brilliant morning sunlight. Jim’s hands trembled on his head as Leonard opened his mouth and went down, making it as slick and sloppy and fast as he could, pulling off with a pop and then pushing back down, moaning and humming and dragging at Jim’s ass to get him to thrust. 

Surprised by his enthusiasm, Jim just about lost it-- whimpering and yelling and flailing, pushing up fit to choke someone with a hell of a lot less gag reflex than Leonard. 

Leonard rode it out anyway, eyes watering, and took Jim’s load like a pro-- pulling back just in time to let Jim shoot into his open mouth, then swallowing and licking and nuzzling, getting Jim’s scent all over himself. 

_“I hope that was sufficient,”_ Leonard said silently to Spock with exaggerated politeness when Jim was lying there panting and quivering through his aftershocks. Leonard tucked Jim away and tidied him up while he was still invertebrate.

“It seems Jim found it quite satisfactory,” Spock answered with typical smooth calm, not bothering with discretion. A moment or two later he appeared from the underbrush, absolutely composed and very close at hand. He raised a brow at Leonard’s grimace, composed and inscrutable, then stepped forward and began to roll the sleeping bags with perfect poise, absolutely without self-consciousness. 

“Don’t you want me to go off into the woods now so you can fuck me up against a tree?” Leonard snapped considerable pique. He stood up and put exasperated hands on his hips. “Or would you rather I stay here so you can fuck me up against the boulder, like in my dream, where Jim can watch?”

Jim started to struggle upright, blushing all over his fair complexion. 

“I would prefer the latter.” Spock remained unruffled, though he responded out loud. “However, I have just received a communication from Mr. Sulu. The salvage team anticipates swift completion of its retrieval of the Kelvin pods and will be prepared to meet us at the Enterprise by midday. There are drone patrols in the vicinity and we still have several miles to travel. Regrettably, the activity you suggest would take excessive time and none of us would be left available to attend to security.”

Jim blinked, baffled, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Goddamned walking computer. Fussy, efficient, heartless son of a circuit-board--” McCoy sputtered his way out into the woods for a belated piss, not bothering to figure out whether he was madder at Spock for planning to take him in front of Jim or for failing to do so. 

He’d have to give them plenty of alone-time to have that talk. Maybe he’d even need to eavesdrop and kick Jim if he chickened out. 

They started hiking shortly after McCoy returned, Spock setting a fairly difficult pace across the terrain-- which had eased; the stones were far smaller now and detours were short and involved no frantic scrambling. However, they were forced to detour twice, once to avoid a drone patrol and once to make a wide semi-circle to avoid a campsite belonging to a group of rogue crash survivors. The latter incident added a couple of hours to their journey.

Their progress was largely quiet-- McCoy was fuming in his head so only Spock could hear him, while Spock remained largely benign and tolerant of his fussing. Jim was very quiet, too, which worried Leonard more than he liked to admit. 

He didn’t find any good opportunities to leave Kirk and Spock alone, and the one time he ambled off on the pretext of getting himself a walking stick, Jim stuck to him like a bunion.

“You won’t ever have a chance to talk to Spock privately if you’re afraid to be alone with him,” McCoy grunted, using his laser scalpel to trim a dead branch of innocuous internal composition. 

“Shut up. I’m protecting you from drones and random aliens,” Jim muttered. “They’ll figure out we’re here sooner or later. What the hell was that all about earlier?”

“Voyeurism,” McCoy snapped. He ran his palm down the shaft of the stick and, receiving no splinters, decided it was good enough.

“What’s going on in that head of his?”

“I told you, you need to get with him and talk about it. His secrets aren’t mine to go spreading all over the place. He hasn’t asked me to talk to you for him.”

Jim sighed, impatient. “You’re a hard nut to crack.”

Leonard scowled at him. “You aren’t trying to make me pick sides, are you? Because if you are, this isn’t going to work.” Kirk took his meaning and recoiled, contrite.

“Sorry.” Jim’s face closed down, and Leonard regretted his outburst of temper. “Let’s get going.”

It took about another three hours of steady climbing to reach the ravine where the Enterprise lay shattered--what was left of her. Her silvery underbelly was exposed. Ugly burned patches festooned the wreckage at regular intervals, smoke still rising here and there from the blackened shell of burned-out infrastructure. Large patches of hull plating were gone, leaving the honeycombed warren of her interior exposed to the elements. 

A single, ragged burst of strong emotion gusted over Leonard, not his own-- Spock, involuntarily picturing the destruction of his precious, irreplaceable ka’athyra-- which he had hoped, apparently in vain, to retrieve. McCoy stepped next to him, raising two fingers, and Spock touched them, his gaze downcast. Though he kept his face still, he let Leonard feel his grief and his gratitude for the support, and afterward he squared his shoulders, composed and ready to go on.

For his own part, McCoy could hardly comprehend the wreckage; it was impossible to reconcile it with the graceful silver lady that had once been his home. He swallowed thickly and stepped aside to set a compassionate hand on Jim’s shoulder.

Jim just stared at the remains of his ship, a single muscle in his jaw jumping. 

As they gazed down, a tiny figure emerged from an access hatch to stand on the hull, waving to attract their attention.

“That’ll be Sulu.” Jim led the way down into the barren ravine. “Come on.”


	19. Chapter 19

Sickbay hadn’t contained any sensitive tech and the infrastructure of that part of the dish was so badly compromised the engineers decreed it unsafe, so Leonard began working his way through the passable corridors and quarters instead, looking for bodies. There weren’t many to find; most of the casualties had been ejected into the vacuum of space and had become debris-- part of the nebula. Leonard was relieved he hadn’t been part of the team sent to retrieve their bodies. A few unlucky crewmen had been pinned by bee ship impacts; he supervised the extraction and identification of their remains. Deterioration was advanced in most cases; the remains were packaged in sealed bags and frozen for transport. 

Once that was finished, he was free to wander-- where he could; the majority of the saucer was upside-down and the corridors tilted at sickening angles, requiring him to clump around in gravity boots. 

Leonard was relieved Nyota’s duties kept her aboard the runabout; she’d seen more than enough horrors already on the surface of Altamid without prowling the corpse of her former home trying not to notice the blood smears on the floors and walls.

He sighed, leaning into the angle of a corridor as he plodded upward, relying on his gravity boots to keep him from falling. There wasn’t any radioactive danger thanks to the surgical excision of the warp nacelles, but sharp, heavy debris posed a constant hazard. 

Right on cue, his comm buzzed. “Lieutenant Navares has cut her arm,” Jim said. “We’re on the bridge.”

“On my way.” He detoured aside to find the main turbolift shaft, thanking the powers that be that those things had maintenance ladders.

Mending a never-ending parade of cuts and scrapes kept McCoy busy, but in between tending the injured he entered those few cabins that hadn’t been fully destroyed, retrieving and packing up mementoes for their occupants or for their next of kin. 

His own cabin was among the ones that remained largely intact-- if you could count it as such, given that the contents appeared to have been treated like a martini in a cocktail shaker and then left in tumbled heaps on the ceiling, half-buried beneath his bedding. 

Quickly he gathered a few of his favorite things: some of his old-fashioned paper books had fared pretty well aside from banged-up corners and creased pages. A couple of artworks from the walls might be mended, but the holo-emitter storing his photos of Joanna was smashed. At least those were backed up elsewhere. 

His clothes were all fine, perfectly preserved inside his closet. He packed the civvies and left the ‘Fleet stuff; no doubt there’d be a new iteration of the uniform by the time the 1701-A was skyworthy.

Spock’s quarters across the hall hadn’t fared as well. Several of the hull plates covering the command area had peeled away, leaving the rooms exposed to both fire and water, and numerous bee ships had struck this portion, probably hoping to put the captain and first officer out of commission before the fight started in earnest. One bee ship had pierced Spock’s mattress and driven through the bottom of his bunk nearly to the floor. 

Leonard clumped awkwardly across the floor upside-down, bending with an effort to examine the bed. Beneath it he found the heavy case holding Spock’s lyre. It sat precisely where it should, held firmly in place by the bee ship’s sharp nose, which seemed to have penetrated only a centimeter or so into the tough, protective shell. Fire had scorched the case, but otherwise it looked intact.

“Can I get a metal cutter in here?” Excited, Leonard scraped away the charred remains of Spock’s bedding and held onto the case as the team worked to extract it, then gently pulled it out and carried it into the hall, where he clumped down the wall until his personal orientation agreed with gravity again and pried open the char-encrusted hinges.

The ka’athyra lay inside, jangling faintly inside its red velvet nest; the pressure from the bee ship’s spike had kept it from being battered to pieces, and the case had preserved it from the fire. There was even a little velvet sack full of extra strings, neatly coiled and ready to use.

“Spock!” He flipped open his communicator. “I’ve got your lyre. I think it’s fine.”

“Thank you, Leonard.” Spock’s measured tones revealed none of the joy that filled Leonard’s mind through their bond. They basked in it secretly together for a moment until duty called Spock away. 

Leonard left the instrument in his case as he went back in and scavenged what he could of the rest-- Spock’s few stone sculptures were broken, but at least the blades of his ceremonial weapons hadn’t burned. Maybe the handles could be reconstructed. 

“Mr. Scott can fix these figurines if we gather all the pieces.” Hikaru appeared at his elbow, squatting down and picking up the arm from a statue. “He’s developed a transporter algorithm for mending broken glass. He inputs the expected dimensions of the object, then the computer scans the molecular structure and the beaming process fuses the fragments back into a whole. Stone shouldn’t be too different.”

They scoured the ashes and found all the bits they could; by the time they’d sealed them in retrieval containers, McCoy was satisfied with a job well-done.

Jim stood brooding inside his cabin when Leonard emerged from Spock’s-- another bee ship had apparently struck his sleeping quarters, for there was a huge, jagged hole in the floor where his bed had once sat. His rooms had been entirely exposed by the hull damage; even the embedded bee ship had been ripped away. The contents of the room had been completely annihilated by the conflagration when Jim triggered the thrusters. Water dripped into the blackened interior; rain was just beginning to pelt down outside. 

“I didn’t have much personal stuff in here. Just a closet full of identical fucking uniforms. I think I’m gonna experiment with some of the alternate shirts when we get back out in space with the new ship. Maybe something in green.” Jim looked much less upset than Leonard had expected. “I’ll miss my favorite mug, though.”

“I’ll get you another one just like it. Look!” Leonard held up the case. “Spock’s lyre survived to assault all our eardrums forevermore.”

Jim ran his fingertips over the varnished wood, his face brightening. “He’ll be glad to have that back.”

“I found quite a few personal effects to return to the crew-- or their families.” Leonard watched some of the joy drain out of Jim’s face as he thought of all the people who’d been lost and wouldn’t be seeing their belongings again. “Didn’t get to go through all of the cabins yet, though. That’ll take a while.”

“The confidentiality salvage ought to be finished by nightfall tomorrow. We’ll send the runabout back to Yorktown with it and the three of us can stick around down here for a few days to finish retrieving personal belongings,” Jim said. “There ought to be enough unburned stuff for us to camp out in comfort.”

Well, that’d certainly give Jim a chance to be alone with Spock for a heart to heart talk. “Sounds like a plan. Can Pavel hook one of the replicators up to a battery so we can get some decent food?”

“I’ll add that to his list.” 

McCoy dossed down that night in his own room, on his own mattress, wrapped in his own bedding-- okay, he lay on the ceiling of his quarters instead of on the bedstead, and things smelled more than a little smoky, but it was good enough. Just on the edge of consciousness, he could hear Spock playing his lyre in the corridor outside, and when it stopped there was Jim’s soft voice talking to Sulu and Pavel and the others. It felt comfortable and good-- like home.

Someone joined him after a while; he was so far gone he didn’t bother to find out who. He just went to sleep, comfortable and content, and woke up in Jim’s arms the next morning.

“Time for alpha shift, sleepyhead. I think Lt. Morgan’s hiding a muscle strain.”

“I’ll make sure to get him with a hypospray.” Leonard smirked. “One that’ll sting.” He paused. “You’re right, you know. The severity of my treatment methods is directly proportional to the lengths people go while trying to avoid them.”

“Is that why you always use manual prostate exams on me?”

“Uh huh.” Leonard paused to reflect. “Well, that’s part of the reason, anyway.” He flashed Jim a wicked grin, which he returned. “You ever get around to that talk with Spock?”

“Too busy yesterday. Maybe tonight.” Jim paused. “Uhura commed this morning from the runabout; Scotty’s located the remains of the engineering section and the nacelles amidst the debris field. The nacelles were far enough out when they detached that they escaped the planetary gravity field; we can salvage them at leisure. Main Engineering’s in a decaying orbit. It’ll crash-land planetside sometime this afternoon. Starfleet recommended we try to use photon torpedos and a tractor beam to redirect its trajectory into the sun, but Scotty wasn’t thrilled about that option.”

Leonard winced. “I’ll just bet he wasn’t.”

“He wants to let it come down, then run a salvage op. Given our limited firepower, I think that’d be for the best.”

That would bring Scotty and Nyota planetside. Leonard winced. “I’ll make myself scarce.” If he could worm his way into sickbay for just a minute or two, he might be able to find his stuffed lizard, and maybe some of his--

“Bones.” Jim shook his head. “Don’t even think about it.”

He mustered an expression of indignant innocence. “About what?”

“You’re planning to go after that damned lizard you love so much. Don’t look at me like that.” Jim rolled his eyes. 

“You wound me.” McCoy knew his face was giving him away; Jim could read his guilt like a book. “….Who made you a telepath, anyway?”

“Bones.” Jim shook his head with an expression of mock-pity. “You’re not that hard to figure out.”

“My dad gave me that lizard,” Leonard sighed. “He’s mounted on the wall with a strong magnet. I scanned the area and that half of sickbay’s still intact, so he’s probably just hanging there waiting for me--”

Jim rolled his eyes with exasperation. “At least take Spock when you go.”

“Will do.”

*****

Located on the underside of the back rim of the dish, Sickbay had hadn’t fared particularly well when Jim and Pavel flipped the ship with the thruster rockets. The pivot had actually bent that part of the dish, folding it over on itself. In the process, it had crushed a good deal of the hull and compressed the walls on one side while springing them apart on the other, crumpling critical support struts and infrastructure, leaving the interior edge of the outermost corridor on the dish an impassable warren of razor-sharp shreds and the exterior edge beyond it in danger of collapse. 

“Sickbay’s a wreck, but it wouldn’t have hit as hard as the leading edge of the dish. Momentum didn’t have a chance to build up. It’ll mostly be subject to pivot damage.” Leonard picked his way carefully through a blockage, wriggling past a collapsed bulkhead by the skin of his teeth. 

“I am aware of the physics of the situation, doctor.” Spock gazed cautiously ahead, scanning with his tricorder, then placed a manual support rod as a precaution, activating its tension field. “Perhaps we should have attempted to beam in.” 

“Maybe. It’s just around this bend--” Leonard knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop; somehow this was much worse than the wreckage of his quarters. All the things up there mattered to him, but the equipment down here had been crucial for everyone, and he’d invested a huge part of himself in constructing the ideal sickbay, then keeping his department functioning at peak efficiency. “There’s the door.”

Sickbay had sealed itself as per emergency protocol, and for a wonder, the duranium portal hadn’t given way under force.

“The material of the door and its frame is supporting the majority of this corridor,” Spock stated, eyeing his tricorder. “If we attempt to cut through, we will bring down tons of debris.”

“Look, just past the junction.” Around the corner the bulkhead had torn like paper, sharp metal edges gleaming. Beyond the breach, the corridor soon crunched down into an impenetrable crush of wreckage, but the core of sickbay lay exposed through the torn wall. Flickering light illuminated the corridor, and the crackling of an electric short announced that at least some of the bay’s emergency power reserve units had survived the crash.

Spock’s sigh was more audible in Leonard’s head than visible in the motion of his chest, but either way, it was noticeable. “Tread with care, and try not to touch anything if it is not absolutely necessary.”

They slipped through carefully and stood in the bay. The ceiling underfoot was wet with viscous fluid and littered with shards of broken glass. Somewhere just out of sight, the ship had been pulverized so badly it was gone; McCoy could hear the hushed whisper of rain pattering onto soil.

“Looks like the medication cabinet came open and everything smashed. There might be toxic vapors.” Leonard lifted his own scanner. “Nothing too bad; there’s a hell of a draft keeping the air fresh. Look, there’s Bob.” A pair of swinging wires crackled as they touched, stark white light casting reeling shadows and throwing the lizard into sharp relief.

“The structure beyond this point is increasingly unstable. Retrieve your taxidermy by the most direct route and we will go,” Spock insisted, casting a wary glance at the wires. “Use your gloves, doctor; metallic surfaces may be electrified.”

“Yeah, yeah.” McCoy hurried over to the wall and flipped the switch on Bob’s belly, terminating the electromagnetic field and tucking the lizard under his arm. “I wanted to check my desk, too. I had a lot of research results stored on a PADD. I just want to grab that.”

“Doctor, do not--” Spock cautioned, but Leonard was already moving. He could just reach his desk, which stood bolted to the floor, miraculously free and clear of destruction. The rainy curtain of Altamid’s evening was visible through the missing wall behind it, soft and dim, filling the room with a fresh, pleasant smell of dirt and air and growing things. All he needed was to take one more step, and--

He reached for the drawer, trying to figure out how to pull it open without sending padds cascading everywhere, only belatedly hearing the infrastructure groan beneath his feet as he seized the one he wanted.

“Doctor!” Spock lunged for him just as the structure gave way and the two of them tumbled forward, McCoy clutching frantically at his desk while Spock tackled him and hung on. McCoy’s head spun, his stomach lurching, and he had just enough time for terror to bloom, horrible and guilty, in his chest--

\--Before a whining pulse erupted from somewhere near his head and they jerked out of the embrace of gravity, arcing away from the sliding wreckage. Clutching his PADD in one hand and Bob in the other, Leonard flung his arms around Spock’s neck and wrapped his legs around his waist, clinging for dear life.

“I thought those were gravity boots,” McCoy accused Spock, finally getting ahold of himself and identifying the jets emerging from under Spock’s feet. “Not rocket boots!”

“They are capable of both functions,” Spock said with some asperity. “I anticipated the possible need for both, though I did not expect you to charge out over an unsupported area, disregarding my specific warning against the action.”

“It was only a step,” Leonard muttered, flushing. They settled to the ground and Spock released him. Leonard took his time letting go, trying to calm some of his shaking before he pulled back. 

Spock immediately went for his tricorder, quite composed. “It appears the collapse of the unsupported decking has done much to stabilize the remains of sickbay by removing considerable weight from the remaining load-bearing members.” He stepped toward the wreck, dust settling around him-- assisted by the pelting rain, which promptly plastered their hair to their heads and began to trickle slowly down into the collar of McCoy’s survival suit.

“And taking about thirty years off my life.” McCoy hid his contrition behind a grumble, toeing at a bit of unidentifiable detritus that had embedded itself in the spongy ground. 

“My readings show we may escape the rain safely within this chamber,” Spock said, leading him forward to the cavernous darkness of a wide room-- part of the bay’s treatment floor, with biobeds still standing intact in neat rows, though their panels were smashed and dark. 

“The electrical power in this region is no longer active.” Spock tipped his head back, studying the wall. “It should be safe to remain here for a time, perhaps until the rain ceases. However, the wreckage has shifted significantly. I would advise against attempting to return the way we came.”

“Agreed,” McCoy sighed, hoisting himself up onto the edge of a bed. He’d lost his communicator in the scramble. “At least it’s dry in here.”

“Indeed.” Spock folded his arms behind his back, appearing ready to wait out the rain with all the stiff patience of a uniformed guard at Buckingham Palace. 

McCoy regarded him for a second, fighting a losing battle with himself-- they might be lovers now, but that didn’t mean he took any less pleasure in getting under Spock’s skin.

“You ever have that talk with Jim?” he asked. Dammit, he was going to keep needling them both till he got results.

Spock considered him, head tilting, and took evasive action. “We appear to have some considerable time at our disposal and no urgent duties remaining to be performed.” His presence in Leonard’s head warmed, a flicker of heat and growing intent permeating their bond. 

Leonard rolled his eyes. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Spock was not deterred. “Scans indicate no hostile presences nearby. I therefore find it a fitting moment to confess to a repeated thought I have had regarding this place.”

“Do tell,” Leonard urged, interested in spite of himself. Adrenaline was still coursing through him, making him feel giddy and reckless. He shifted, thighs spreading wider, and Spock’s dark eyes raked him, a distinct flicker of heat sizzling there. 

“We have often argued here. I have at times considered the employment of an unorthodox strategy for ending our debates.” 

Leonard could just picture what it must be-- him on his knees with Spock in his mouth, effectively silenced and submitted. He leaned back on his palms, smirking with intent to provoke. “So you’d like to argue, is that it? You want me to let you win?”

“There will be no need for that.” Spock stepped forward, accepting the bait. “While your idea is intriguing, it was not precisely what I had in mind.” His hands settled above Leonard’s hip, tugging and pressing, and Leonard let himself be flipped over, lust flaring in his belly. Spock was not normally so blunt about his desire to top. 

“You wanted to fuck me belly-down over my own biobed?” Leonard purred. “Well, why the hell didn’t you ever say so?”

“The appropriate occasion did not present itself until now,” Spock said. “Doctor M’Benga and the nurses would not have been inclined to turn a blind eye to such activity.”

“Mmm, you’re right about that.” Fucking in this devastated shell was just crazy enough to sound irresistible.

Spock deftly snaked his arms around and unzipped the survival suit, then peeled it down to his ankles with a swift yank. He tugged off Leonard’s underclothing and boots and cast everything aside, leaving him naked. The false leather surface of the bio-bed felt uncomfortably cool at first before it began to warm against Leonard’s skin. Spock’s strong hands parted his thighs, firm and sure; Leonard’s cock jerked in response, eager. 

The ringing of a transporter beam wasn’t enough warning to do much about the compromising position.

“Goddammit!” Leonard snagged his undershirt and buried his head under the cloth.

Let Spock do all the damn talking.


	20. Chapter 20

“What in the world--” Uhura’s voice rose in shock. A mixed blessing; she’d never let either of them live this down, but at least it wasn’t Pavel or Hikaru. 

“Looks like biobed sex to me.” That was Jim at his most wry, and Leonard groaned, folding his arms over his head and hoping the rest of the infrastructure would cave in to crush them all. He just hoped to hell there wasn’t anyone else along for the ride.

“Half the damn saucer collapses and you don’t answer our hails, so we beam down here hoping there’s something left alive to rescue, only to find you two like this?!” Nyota’s voice sharpened with outrage.

“Jim. Nyota.” Spock sounded like he was out taking a lakeside stroll. “We are, obviously, unharmed.” Leonard heard the polite sound of Spock’s zipper sliding up; of course the man was able to restore his personal composure just that easily.

“I knew that much from the meld,” Uhura said sharply. “But you didn’t bother communicating that you were actually safe.”

“I apologize for the omission.” Spock paused. “Events moved rather more quickly than I had anticipated.”

“You got the damn lizard, I see.” Jim sounded like he didn’t know whether to laugh or kill them both. 

Scotty’s voice joined the gathering, tinny over the comm, sharp with urgency. “Captain. We’re scanning two additional life signs adjacent. Shall we beam you out?”

“Negative, Mr. Scott,” Jim drawled. “At least not for the moment. Stand by.” 

“For heaven’s sake. Get dressed, Leonard,” Nyota snapped. “Spock, I’d have thought you had better sense than this. What in the world were you thinking?”

“You are, perhaps, correct that our current circumstances represent a lapse in judgment. I was unaware my communicator had ceased to function, or I would have taken further steps to re-establish contact prior to engaging in personal recreation,” Spock said smoothly as he defeated Leonard’s attempts to remain concealed beneath his shirt, twitching it off his head. “My scans show this portion of the wreckage is now stable.”

Leonard snatched back the shirt and glowered at them all, struggling to get up-- but Spock’s hand was still on him, so he couldn’t.

“As we are unharmed and in a stable area, and we have all served more than a full shift today and you are therefore technically eligible to go off-duty, perhaps the two of you would care to join us,” Spock said. His firm hand on the small of Leonard’s back kept him right where he was.

McCoy groaned. Of all the times Spock could’ve struck up this conversation with Jim, surely this was _not_ the most logical one.

Uhura’s eyes popped wide in disbelief and McCoy grimaced, clenching his eyes shut and anticipating supernova in three. Two. One-- 

“You would not, of course, be required to engage in sexual intercourse with one another.” 

Leonard buried his head in his hands and resumed bargaining with any listening deity who might cause the infrastructure to collapse and end this right now, before Uhura erupted into the biggest intergalactic cataclysm Leonard had ever had the extreme misfortune to be at ground zero to witness. 

“Spock, I swear--” her voice quivered with impending doom.

“He has a point.” That was Jim pouring accelerant on the flames. “This pussyfooting around is getting a little ridiculous, don’t you think?” He hitched a hip onto the biobed next to McCoy and regarded her. “Bones has been trying to get me to talk to Spock ever since we beamed down, but I don’t think he’s who I need to discuss things with. It’s you I need to talk to, isn’t it, Nyota?”

“Excuse me? Belly down here, stark naked, and Spock won’t fucking let me get up?” McCoy complained, still trapped under that heavy hand. 

They ignored him; Nyota folded her arms and glared at Jim.

“I was a jackass when I came onto you back at the bar before I enlisted. I was a jackass hiding in your room when Gailla and I were dating. I was a jackass coming onto her so I could use her to hack the Kobayashi Maru simulation. I’ve been a jackass and a skirt chaser most of my life. I admit it.” Jim spoke steadily, calm.

Somehow, Uhura hadn’t gone ballistic yet; somehow she was still listening. She glared at Jim, drumming her nails on her arm. It was like nobody gave a good goddamn that McCoy still lay face-down, bare-ass naked, with his legs spread around Spock’s thighs. 

“I’m probably still a jackass in a lot of ways,” Jim said softly. “But I’m not the stupid kid I used to be. Bones has been my best friend ever since I had one. I’m not gonna fuck him and leave him. And I wouldn’t do that to Spock, either. But that’s not what scares you the most; I understand.” He stepped toward her, and incredibly, she let him touch her face with his fingertips. “I wouldn’t try to take them away from you,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t ever want to lose them, but I’d be happy to share. If you’re willing to let me.” He glanced back at Spock and Leonard, giving them a faint, sad smile. 

Nyota’s eyes glistened; she gazed up at him and something passed between them-- something raw and painful. Shared memory ghosted past Leonard’s mind, courtesy of the bond: Nyota watching Jim die behind the glass of an engineering safety door, Nyota seeing Jim’s face receding behind the airlock door as the saucer separated from the neck, Nyota watching Jim bloodied and bruised again and again-- the first time because he was a stupid young buck with an attitude problem; the last because he’d been willing to sacrifice his life for the people of Yorktown. He’d changed, and she’d changed-- he’d earned her respect and her caring, but it made her as mad as hell that he wanted her lovers, too.

“Don’t try to sell me oceanfront property in Kansas. You were going to leave.” Her voice cracked. “Nobody was supposed to know, but I processed the comm transmissions. I saw the applications, the queries, even the request for a psych eval. I knew all along!”

“Yeah. I was, but nobody’s ever asked me why,” Jim said, his voice just as raw as hers. “Do you want to know?”

She swallowed, almost shook her head, then recovered, firming her jaw. 

“Because--”

“Because you didn’t have anyone,” she whispered before he could speak the words himself, and he nodded slowly, holding her gaze fixed. “You were all alone, and you couldn’t stand it.” 

“It was killing me,” Jim agreed. 

Leonard made a small noise in his throat, but Jim didn’t look away from Nyota. Spock’s hand moved on Leonard’s back, reassuring him with a brief caress.

Nyota dashed furtively at a tear; McCoy could sense something in her starting to crumble-- then Spock shut it away, protecting her privacy.

The sudden absence of the meld left McCoy at a loose end, and in the sudden silence his brain piped up an unwanted thought. _He wanted Spock and couldn’t have him. He could’ve had me, but he didn’t even try. He was just going to bail._ Leonard tensed and Spock’s warm hand tried to soothe him, but his struggles to escape were in earnest this time, and Spock relented. 

Leonard fumbled for his survival suit and yanked the trousers on, not bothering with underwear, and grabbed Bob, holding the lizard in front of him like a shield.

“Leonard--” Spock said.

“It’s fine, have your talk.” Moving like lightning, he snatched Jim’s communicator off his belt. “Beam-out for one, Mr. Scott.” 

“Leonard--” Nyota started, but he was relieved to let the familiar swirls coalesce and take him. 

He was surprised-- and not a little relieved-- to find himself aboard the runabout when he materialized. “Thanks, Scotty. Do me a favor and give me a thirty second head-start before you beam the rest of them up, would you?” He took the steps off the platform in a single stride. “I’m gonna go stash this stuff and, and…” words failed him for a moment as Scotty stared in amazement at his bare chest. “And find a shirt,” he finished, not losing even one iota of momentum as he stamped through the door. 

Corridor. Lift. Quarters. Emergency medical quarantine on the lock-- it’d take an admiral to override that. Maybe Jim would do it himself whenever they got back to Yorktown.

Leonard set Bob carefully on his desk next to the PADD and sat down on his bunk. He could use a shower. He could use about 12 hours of sleep on a soft bed. He could use a transfer to the delta quadrant, effective yesterday. 

….He could use those mind-blocking lessons. Leonard groaned, feeling Spock’s soft touch against his thoughts.

“Don’t even start, Spock.” He wondered if he had any benzodiazepine in his medikit. A good dose of that would shut all this telepathic meddling down in a hell of a hurry. “You just go fuck Jim like you’ve both wanted to all along. You two’ll have each other, Nyota’s got Scotty, and I’ve got Jack Daniels.” His eyes stung and he grimaced; the last time he felt anything like this, he’d been stuck standing in the doorway of a bedroom, staring down at his wife in bed with his best friend.

Bones barked a sudden, startled laugh. Hell, he should’ve just climbed in. They all could’ve shared.

The benzodiazepine hypo hissed against his arm and Spock’s mental presence vanished with gratifying speed. What a damned idiot he’d been, letting the Vulcan bastard bond him in the first place! Even worse than getting married.

A chunk of Altamid was visible through his window, and McCoy stared at it for a handful of minutes. He tried to luxuriate in the sensation of being alone in his head for once, but mostly he just brooded about how ironic it was that Jim and Spock had both been ready to bail off the Enterprise, but he was going to be the one who actually did it.

He ignored a chime at his door and a chirp from his communicator, but he’d forgotten to turn off the comm in the wall.

“Len.” Nyota said gently. “It’s me. Let me in, Len.”

Well hell. If anybody could get where he was coming from right now, it was her.

He keyed the door and let her in, then locked it again. This time he killed the comm, too, before wandering over to sit back down on his bed. 

“Jim didn’t mean it that way, Len.” She tried to catch his arm, but he kept moving, plopping down on the edge of the mattress and hunching over, hanging his arms off his thighs. “Depression’s just… automatically unable to process the needs of others.”

“Now you’re making excuses for him?” Leonard raised a brow at her in disbelief. “Not much else he could’ve meant, getting ready to leave without so much as a word to me because he couldn’t have Spock.”

She sat down next to him and laid her hand on his thigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said. He felt empty right now, the way you usually got right after somebody cut your heart out but the rest of you hadn’t realized yet that you were a dead man walking. “You gonna let ’em go at it now?”

“I don’t think I can stop them, not in the long run.” She sounded faintly lost and a little bitter. “I get it, you know-- I get where you’re coming from. And them, too.” She clasped his hand. “But I know Spock loves you. He loves us. I think Jim loves you, too.”

“And I loved my wife, for all the damn good it did either of us. In the end, she loved somebody else more.” Leonard smiled, but there wasn’t any warmth behind it. “It was good while it lasted. Trouble is, it doesn’t last long.”

“But it could,” she said, halting. “You’ve just got to… get over it and share, and trust that people love you enough for it to work. I was so scared when you first came to bed with us, Len. I was afraid it would end things between me and Spock-- but it didn’t. It turned out really well, even though you’ve got part of him I don’t-- I never had it; I won’t ever have it. Jim has part of him, too. But now I have part of you to go with the part of Spock I’ve always had. You gave me that part of you. Do you want to take it back?”

Leonard felt his throat close and his eyes sting-- distantly, as though it were happening to someone else.

“It’s not that I _want_ to.”

“You don’t _have_ to. Unless you want things to stop. Unless you push us away and make them stop,” she said. “Unless you can’t share. I know it’s hard.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “It’s a leap of faith, and sometimes you feel like there’s nothing under you but an empty void, and you’re falling and falling away from everyone you love, but then-- Spock’s there to catch me, or you’re there. Or Scotty.” She blushed; he’d swear to it. “He said he wants to be part of my life too, if we can. When we can.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I think Jim wants to be there for you too, to catch you and Spock when I can’t.”

“Nobody actually wanted me, though. Not at first.” It sounded petty as hell, and he flushed with shame when he heard himself say it.

“I can’t speak for Jim, but Spock wanted you.” She squeezed his hand. “He’s wanted both of you for a long time. When you cut yourself off from the bond a couple of minutes ago Spock lost it, Len. We were halfway to the bridge and he just stopped short and sagged against the wall of the turbolift. He said ‘Leonard is gone,’ and I swear, for a second I thought you were dead-- that you’d gone off and OD’ed or something. But Jim grabbed his tricorder and he said there were life signs in your quarters. I thought Spock was going to vomit; he was white as a sheet. I promised him I’d come down here and get you to let me in. Jim had to hold him up when the lift doors opened; he couldn’t walk.” 

“Fuck!” Leonard exploded, bolting halfway through the door before he even knew what his feet were doing. “Did Jim take him to the med bay? Come on.”

Spock was already resting on a biobed when McCoy burst through the door scowling. “Damn it, you pointy-eared menace to life and limb. Can’t a man take a vacation to think for a while inside the privacy of his own mind?”

Spock sat up, reaching for him and clutching his hands in a grip so strong it hurt; his face was an unhealthy shade of greenish-gray. “You cut our bond.”

“I needed to be alone, so I took a drug that shut down my psi capacity.” Leonard flushed; Jim was watching them, his face pinched with misery. “I didn’t think it would hurt you.”

“I will recover.” Spock lay back, his color already returning. “Now that you are here. I feared you had... done something rash.”

Spock, afraid. For him. Leonard’s throat closed up tight. “I’m sorry, Spock. I didn’t think about how it might affect you.” Was that fear, that love, worth any less because he hadn’t been Spock’s first choice? It was pretty shitty of him to keep doubting Spock, all things considered.

Damn anybody who was watching; he leaned in to press their faces together, sliding an arm around Spock and holding him tightly. “I think we need to start those lessons you mentioned, though. The psychic disciplines, so I won’t have to drug myself when I need a break.”

“I’m sorry too,” Jim said, almost as pale as Spock. “I’ve intruded on something I shouldn’t have, and I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

“Hush,” Nyota rolled her eyes at him. 

Now that the crisis was passing, Leonard felt self-conscious about letting everybody in the medbay see him cradling Spock so tenderly-- it made him feel even more naked than getting caught halfway to letting Spock fuck him. So he drew back a little, though he still held Spock’s hands. “The dose ought to wear off in two to four hours.”

Spock nodded, already regaining color. “I will look forward to it.” 

“Men. If it isn’t silent, stoic suffering, it’s flying off half-cocked. All three of you.” She shook her head. “I can see the only thing that’s going to fix this problem is letting Jim into the bond so nobody can misunderstand where anybody else is coming from and martyr himself over a miscommunication!” She shook her finger at them all, scowling. “But I want those shielding lessons first.”

“Agreed,” Spock said softly.

“Nyota,” Leonard said softly, and reached for her; her slim hand curved into his and he squeezed it, trying to speak his thanks without words. 

She huffed at him, but her hand closed around his just as tightly. “I need to shuttle down with Monty and Pavel to help secure the engineering section. It hit an ocean; we’ll have to dive. I assume the three of you can survive without me preventing additional disasters for the rest of the shift?”

“That’s a pretty big assumption,” Leonard said softly, only then realizing he still had no shirt on. “But we’ll try.”

**Author's Note:**

> Since this story has proven to be an attack magnet for guest anons, it seems I need to take special steps to ensure that those complaints will be properly addressed. I've therefore hired a complaints manager to represent me when anonymous snipers attack. Her name is Helen Waite. If you have an anonymous complaint about this story and want satisfaction, go to Helen Waite for it.


End file.
